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ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 














Dinah Maria Mulock Craik 























0 


Copyright, 1923, by 
Rand McNally & Company 






Made in U. S. A 


JUN 20 

©C1A711072 

1 ' "Vvc I 










) 



PAGE 

ADVENTURE THE FIRST 

Brownie and the Cook. 13 

ADVENTURE THE SECOND 

Brownie and the Cherry-Tree.29 

ADVENTURE THE THIRD 

Brownie in the Farmyard.41 

ADVENTURE THE FOURTH 

Brownie’s Ride.61 

ADVENTURE THE FIFTH 

Brownie on the Ice.85 

ADVENTURE THE SIXTH AND LAST 
Brownie and the Clothes.105 

Story of the Author’s Life.123 


7 




























Portrait of the author. 4 

Brownie in the cellar.12 

“Whew!” said Brownie, “here’s a chance! What a supper I ’ll get 
now!” And oh, what a supper he did eat!.17 

Brownie brought Tiny her puppy from a basket in a corner of 
the kitchen.23 

Sometimes the children would sit up in the “castle” with a book, 
reading.28 

A shrill laugh, loud and merry, was heard close by, and a little 
brown old man’s face peeped from behind the cherry-tree . 33 

The children sat demurely in a ring, and in the center was a huge 
basket piled as high with cherries as it could hold.37 

“I wasn’t laughing,” said the Gardener’s wife angrily .... 40 

A large rabbit dodged in and out and .... nearly threw 
Gardener down, pail and all.45 

Dolly came walking quietly back, led by a little wee brown man . 49 

When they opened their eyes, what should they behold but a whole 
fleet of ducklings.56 

More than once Cook allowed her to walk in at the back door . 60 

They were very kind to their little sisters, held them on so they 
could not fall, and led Jess carefully. 65 

Bill kept striking with his whip in all directions, but hit 
nobody.73 

There, perched on Jess’s manger, was a wee brown man ... 77 

9 




















10 


A LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

“One, two, three, and away!” Off they started over the smooth 
black ice.84 

The children started to pelt Gardener with snowballs, but at the 
first—which fell on his neck—he turned round furiously . . 89 

Just as Gardener reached the middle of the lake, the ice suddenly 
broke, and in he popped.97 

“Boxer wouldn’t tie shirt-sleeves in double knots”.104 

On the clothes were all sorts of queer marks—marks of fingers 
and toes and heels—all in coal dust.113 

When the two biggest boys lifted the basket, piled high with 
clothes, to carry it away, they felt something tugging at it from 
underneath.117 










ADVENTURE THE FIRST 




























HERE was once a little Brownie who lived— 



where do you think he lived?—-In a coal- 


cellar. 


Now a coal-cellar may seem a most curious 
place to choose to live in; but then a Brownie is a 
curious creature — a fairy, and yet not one of that 
sort of fairies who fly about on gossamer wings, 
and dance in the moonlight, and so on. He never 
dances; and as to wings, what use would they be 
to him in a coal-cellar? He is a sober, stay-at- 
home household elf—nothing much to look at, even 
if you did see him, which you are not likely to 
do — only a little old man, about a foot high, all 
dressed in brown, with a brown face and hands, 
and a brown peaked cap, just the color of a brown 
mouse. And like a mouse he hides in corners— 
especially kitchen corners, and only comes out after 
dark when nobody is about, and so sometimes 
people call him Mr. Nobody. 

I said you were not likely to see him. I never 
did, certainly, and never knew anybody who did; 
but still, if you were to go into Devonshire, you 


13 







14 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

would hear 'many funny stories about Brownies in 
general, and so I may as well tell you the adven¬ 
tures of this particular Brownie, who belonged 
to a family there; which family he had followed 
from house to house, most faithfully, for years and 
years. 

A good many people had heard him — or sup¬ 
posed they had—when there were extraordinary 
noises about the house; noises which must have 
come from a mouse or a rat—or a Brownie. But 
nobody had ever seen him, except the children, 
the three little boys and three little girls—who 
declared he often came to play with them when 
they were alone, and was the nicest companion 
in the world, though he was such an old man — 
hundreds of years old! He was full of fun and 
mischief and up to all sorts of tricks, but he 
never did anybody any harm unless he deserved it. 

Brownie was supposed to live under one par¬ 
ticular coal, in the darkest corner of the cellar, 
which was never allowed to be disturbed. Why he 
had chosen it nobody knew, and how he lived 
there, nobody knew either; nor what he lived 
upon. Except that, ever since the family could 
remember, there had always been a bowl of milk 
put behind the coal-cellar door for the Brownie’s 
supper. Perhaps he drank it — perhaps he didn’t: 
anyhow, the bowl was always found empty next 
morning. 


BROWNIE AND THE COOK 


15 


The Old Cook, who had lived all her life in the 
family, had never once forgotten to give Brownie 
his supper; but at last she died, and a young Cook 
came in her stead, who was very apt to forget 
everything. She was also both careless and lazy, 
and disliked taking the trouble to put a bowl 
of milk in the same place every night for Mr. 
Nobody. “She didn’t believe in Brownies,” 
she said; “she had never seen one, and seeing’s 
believing.” So she laughed at the other servants, 
who looked very grave, and put the bowl of milk 
in its place as often as they could, without say¬ 
ing much about it. 

But once, when Brownie woke up, at his usual 
hour for rising—ten o’clock at night, and looked 
round in search for his supper — which was in fact 
his breakfast, he found nothing there. At first 
he could not imagine such neglect, and went smell¬ 
ing and smelling about for his bowl of milk—it 
was not always placed in the same corner now — 
but in vain. 

“This will never do,” said he; and being 
extremely hungry, began running about the coal- 
cellar to see what he could find. His eyes were 
as useful in the dark as in the light — like a pussy¬ 
cat’s; but there was nothing to be seen — not even 
a potato paring, or a dry crust, or a well-gnawed 
bone, such as Tiny the terrier sometimes brought 
into the coal-cellar and left on the door. Nothing, 


16 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


in short, but heaps of coals and coal dust; which 
even a Brownie cannot eat, you know. 

“Can’t stand this; quite impossible!” said the 
Brownie, tightening his belt to make his poor little 
inside feel less empty. He had been asleep so 
long—about a week, I believe, as was his habit 
when there was nothing to do — that he seemed 
ready to eat his own head, or his boots, or any¬ 
thing. “What’s to be done? since nobody brings 
my supper I must go out and fetch it.” 

He spoke quickly, for he always thought quickly, 
and made up his mind in a minute. To be sure 
it was a very little mind, like his little body; but 
he did the best he could with it, and was not a bad 
sort of old fellow after all. In the house he had 
never done any harm—and often some good, for 
he frightened away all the rats, mice, and black- 
beetles. Not the crickets — he liked them, as the 
old Cook had done: she said they were such cheer¬ 
ful creatures, and always brought luck to the 
house. But the young Cook could not bear them, 
and used to pour boiling water down their holes, 
and set basins of beer with little wooden bridges 
up to the rim, that they might walk up, tumble 
in, and be drowned. 

So there was not even a cricket singing in the 
silent house when Brownie put his head out of his 
coal-cellar door, which, to his surprise, he found 
open. Old Cook used to lock it every night; but 


BROWNIE AND THE COOK 


17 



“Whew!” said Brownie, “ here's a chance! What a supper I'll get now!” And oh, what 
a supper he did eat! 

the young Cook had left that key and the kitchen 
and pantry keys too, all dangling in the lock, so 
that any thief might have got in, and wandered 
all over the house without being found out. 

“Hurrah, here’s luck!” cried Brownie, tossing 
his cap up in the air, and bounding right through 
the scullery into the kitchen. It was quite empty, 
but there was a good fire burning itself out—-just 
for its own amusement, and the remains of a capital 
supper were spread on the table—enough for half a 
dozen people being left still. 




















18 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

Would you like to know what there was? 
Devonshire cream, of course; and part of a large 
dish of junket, which is something like curds and 
whey. Lots of bread and butter and cheese, and 
half an apple-pudding. Also a great jug of cider 
and another of milk, and several half-full glasses, 
and no end of dirty plates, knives, and forks. 
All were scattered about the table in the most 
untidy fashion, just as the servants had risen from 
their supper, without thinking to put anything 
away. 

Brownie screwed up his little old face and 
turned up his button of a nose, and gave a long 
whistle. You might not believe it, seeing he lived 
in a coal-cellar, but really he liked tidiness, and 
always played his pranks upon disorderly or slovenly 
folk. 

“Whew!” said he, “here’s a chance! What a 
supper I’ll get now!” 

And he jumped on to a chair and thence to the 
table, but so quietly that the large black cat with 
four white paws, called Muff, because she was so 
fat and soft and her fur so long, who sat dozing 
in front of the fire, just opened one eye and went 
to sleep again. She had tried to get her nose into 
the milk-jug, but it was too small; and the junket- 
dish was too deep for her to reach, except with 
one paw. She did n’t care much for bread and 
cheese and apple-pudding, and was very well fed 


BROWNIE AND THE COOK 


19 


besides; so after just wandering round the table 
she had jumped down from it again, and settled 
herself to sleep on the hearth. 

But Brownie had no notion of going to sleep. 
He wanted his supper, and oh, what a supper he 
did eat! first one thing and then another, and 
then trying everything all over again. And oh! 
what a lot he drank! — first milk and then cider, 
and then mixed the two together in a way that 
would have disagreed with anybody except a 
Brownie. As it was, he was obliged to slacken 
his belt several times, and at last took it off 
altogether. But he must have had a most extra¬ 
ordinary capacity for eating and drinking — 
since, after he had nearly cleared the table, he 
was just as lively as ever, and began jumping 
about on the table as if he had had no supper 
at all. 

Now his jumping was a little awkward, for there 
happened to be a clean white table-cloth; as 
this was only Monday, it had had no time to get 
dirty — untidy as the Cook was. And you know 
Brownie lived in a coal-cellar, and his feet were 
black with running about in coal dust. So wherever 
he trod, he left the impression behind; until 
at last the whole table-cloth was covered with 
black marks. 

Not that he minded this; in fact he took great 
pains to make the cloth as dirty as possible; and 


20 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


then laughing loudly, “Ho, ho, ho!” leaped on to 
the hearth, and began teasing the cat; squeak¬ 
ing like a mouse, or chirping like a cricket, or 
buzzing like a fly; and altogether disturbing poor 
Pussy’s mind so much, that she went and hid 
herself in the farthest corner, and left him the 
hearth all to himself, where he lay at ease until 
daybreak. 

Then, hearing a slight noise overhead — which 
might be the servants getting up, he jumped on to 
the table again, gobbled up the few remaining 
crumbs for his breakfast, and scampered off to his 
coal-cellar; where he hid himself under his big coal, 
and fell asleep for the day. 

Well, the Cook came downstairs rather earlier 
than usual, for she remembered she had to clear 
off the remains of supper; but lo and behold, there 
was nothing left to clear! Every bit of food was 
eaten up — the cheese looked as if a dozen mice 
had been nibbling at it, and nibbled it down to the 
very rind; the milk and cider were all drunk — 
and mice don’t care for milk and cider, you know: 
as for the apple-pudding, it had vanished alto¬ 
gether; and the dish was licked as clean as if 
Boxer the yard-dog had been at it, in his hungriest 
mood. 

“And my white table-cloth—oh, my clean white 
table-cloth! What can have been done to it?” 
cried she in amazement. For it was all over little 


BROWNIE AND THE COOK 


21 


black footmarks, just the size of a baby’s foot— 
only babies don’t wear shoes with nails in them, 
and don’t run about and climb on kitchen tables 
after all the family have gone to bed. 

Cook was a little frightened; but her fright 
changed to anger when she saw the large black cat 
stretched comfortably on the hearth. Poor Muff 
had crept there for a little snooze after Brownie 
went away. 

“You nasty cat! I see it all now; it’s you that 
have eaten up all the supper; it’s you that have 
been on my clean table-cloth with your dirty 
paws.” 

They were white paws, and as clean as possible; 
but Cook never thought of that, any more than 
she did of the fact that cats don’t usually drink 
cider or eat apple-pudding. 

“ I’ll teach you to come stealing food in this 
way; take that—and that—and that!” 

Cook got hold of a broom and beat poor Pussy 
till the creature ran mewing away. She couldn’t 
speak, you know — unfortunate cat! and tell people 
that it was Brownie who had done it all. 

Next night Cook thought she would make 
all safe and sure; so, instead of letting the cat 
sleep by the fire, she shut her up in the chilly 
coal-cellar, locked the door,- put the key in her 
pocket, and went off to bed, leaving the supper 
as before. 


22 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

When Brownie woke up and looked out of his 
hole, there was as usual no supper for him, and the 
cellar was close shut. He peered about to try 
and find some cranny under the door to creep out 
at, but there was none. And he felt so hungry 
that he could almost have eaten the cat, who kept 
walking to and fro in a melancholy manner—only 
she was alive, and he couldn’t well eat her alive: — 
besides he knew she was old, and had an idea she 
might be tough; so he merely said, politely, “How 
do you do, Mrs. Pussy?” to which she answered 
nothing—of course. 

Something must be done, and luckily Brownies 
can do things which nobody else can do. So he 
thought he would change himself into a mouse, 
and gnaw a hole through the door. But then he 
suddenly remembered the cat, who, though he had 
decided not to eat her, might take this oppor¬ 
tunity of eating him. So he thought it advisable 
to wait till she was fast asleep, which did not 
happen for a good while. At length, quite tired 
with walking about, Pussy turned round on her 
tail six times, curled down in a corner, and fell fast 
asleep. 

Immediately Brownie changed himself into the 
smallest mouse possible; and, taking care not to 
make the least noise, gnawed a hole in the door, 
and squeezed himself through — immediately turning 
into his proper shape again, for fear of accidents. 


BROWNIE AND THE COOK 


23 



Brownie brought Tiny her puppy f rom a basket in a corner of the kitchen 

The kitchen fire was at its last glimmer; but 
it showed a better supper than even last night, 
for the Cook had had friends with her, a brother 
and two cousins, and they had been exceedingly 
merry The food they had left behind was 
enough for three Brownies at least, but this one 
managed to eat it all up. Only once, in trying 
to cut a great slice of beef, he let the carving knife 
and fork fall with such a clatter, that Tiny the 
terrier, who was tied up at the foot of the stairs, 
began to bark furiously. However, he brought 




24 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

her her puppy, which had been left in a basket 
in a corner of the kitchen, and so succeeded in 
quieting her. 

After that he enjoyed himself amazingly, and 
made more marks than ever on the white table¬ 
cloth— for he began jumping about like a pea on 
a trencher, in order to make his particularly large 
supper agree with him. 

Then, in the absence of the cat, he teased the 
puppy for an hour or two, till, hearing the clock 
strike five, he thought it as well to turn into a mouse 
again, and creep back cautiously into his cellar. 
He was only just in time, for Muff opened one eye, 
and was just going to pounce upon him, when he 
changed himself back into a Brownie. She was 
so startled that she bounded away, her tail growing 
into twice its natural size, and her eyes gleam¬ 
ing like round green globes. But Brownie only 
said, “Ha, ha, ho!” and walked deliberately into 
his hole. 

When Cook came downstairs and saw that the 
same thing had happened again — that the supper 
was all eaten, and the table-cloth blacker than 
ever with the extraordinary footmarks, she was 
greatly puzzled. Who could have done it all? 
Not the cat, who came mewing out of the coal- 
cellar the minute she unlocked the door. Possibly 
a rat—but then would a rat have come within 
reach of Tiny! 


BROWNIE AND THE COOK 


25 


It must have been Tiny herself, or her puppy, 
which just came rolling out of its basket over 
Cook’s feet. “You little wretch! You and your 
mother are the greatest nuisance imaginable. I’ll 
punish you!” 

And quite forgetting that Tiny had been safely 
tied up all night, and that her poor little puppy 
was so fat and helpless it could scarcely stand on 
its legs — and so was unlikely to jump on chairs and 
tables—she gave them both such a thrashing that 
they ran howling together out of the kitchen door, 
where the kind little kitchen-maid took them up 
in her arms. 

“You ought to have beaten the Brownie, 
if you could catch him,” said she in a whis¬ 
per. “He’ll do it again and again, you’ll see, for he 
can’t bear an untidy kitchen. You’d better do 
as poor old Cook did, and clear the supper 
things away, and put the odds and ends safe in the 
larder; also,” she added mysteriously, “if I were 
you, I’d put a bowl of milk behind the coal-cellar 
door.” 

“Nonsense!” answered the young Cook, and 
flounced away. But afterwards she thought better 
of it, and did as she was advised, grumbling all 
the time, but doing it. 

Next morning, the milk was gone! Perhaps 
Brownie had drunk it up, anyhow nobody could 
say that he hadn’t. As for the supper, Cook 


26 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


having safely laid it on the shelves of the larder, 
nobody touched it. And the table-cloth, which 
was wrapped up tidily and put in the dresser 
drawer, came out as clean as ever, with not a single 
black footmark upon it. No mischief being done, 
the cat and the dog both escaped a beating, and 
Brownie played no more tricks with anybody — till 
the next time. 



ADVENTURE THE SECOND 



Sometimes the children would sit up in the “ castle ” with a book, reading. 






n mmmtmto 


BROWNIE AND 
THE CHERRY-TREE 


The “next time” was quick in coming, which 
was not wonderful, considering there was a Brownie 
in the house. 

Otherwise the house was like most other houses, 
and the family like most other families. The 
children also: they were sometimes good, sometimes 
naughty, like other children: but on the whole they 
deserved to have the pleasure of a Brownie to play 
with them, as they declared he did—many and 
many a time. 

A favorite play-place was the orchard, where 
grew the biggest cherry-tree you ever saw. They 
called it their “castle,” because it rose up ten 
feet from the ground in one thick stem, and then 
branched out into a circle of boughs, with a flat 
place in the middle, where two or three children 
could sit at once. There they often did sit, turn 
by turn, or one at a time—sometimes with a book, 
reading; and the biggest boy made a sort of 
rope-ladder by which they could climb up and 
down—which they did all winter, and enjoyed 
their “castle” very much. 

29 











30 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

But one day in spring they found their ladder 
cut away! The Gardener had done it, saying it 
injured the tree, which was just coming into 
blossom. Now this Gardener was a rather gruff 
man, with a growling voice. He did not mean to 
be unkind, but he disliked children; he said they 
bothered him. But when they complained to their 
mother about the ladder, she agreed with Gardener 
that the tree must not be injured, as it bore the big¬ 
gest cherries in all the neighborhood—so big that 
the old saying of “taking two bites at a cherry,” 
came really true. 

“Wait till the cherries are ripe,” said she; and so 
the little people waited, and watched it through its 
leafing and blossoming—such sheets of blossom, 
white as snow!—till the fruit began to show, and 
grew large and red on every bough. 

At last one morning the mother said, “Chil¬ 
dren, should you like to help gather the cherries 
to-day?” 

“Hurrah!” they cried, “and not a day too soon; 
for we saw a flock of starlings in the next field— 
and if we don’t clear the tree, they will.” 

“Very well; clear it then. Only mind and fill 
my basket quite full for preserving. What is over 
you may eat if you like.” 

“Thank you, thank you,” and the children were 
eager to be off, but the mother stopped them till 
she could get the Gardener and his ladder. 


BROWNIE AND THE CHERRY-TREE 31 

“For it is he must climb the tree, not you; and 
you must do exactly as he tells you; and he will 
stop with you all the time and see that you don’t 
come to harm.” 

This was no slight cloud on the children’s happi¬ 
ness, and they begged hard to go alone. 

“Please might we? We will be so good!” 

The mother shook her head. All the goodness 
in the world would not help them if they tumbled 
off the tree, or ate themselves sick with cherries. 
“You would not be safe, and I should be so 
unhappy.” 

To make mother “unhappy” was the worst 
rebuke possible to these children; so they choked 
down their disappointment, and followed the 
Gardener as he walked on ahead, carrying his 
ladder on his shoulder. He looked very cross, 
and as if he did not like the children’s company 
at all. 

They were pretty good on the whole, though 
they chattered a good deal; but Gardener said 
not a word to them all the way to the orchard. 
When they reached it he just told them to “keep 
out of his way and not worrit him,” which they 
politely promised, saying among themselves that 
they should not enjoy their cherry-gathering at all. 
But children who make the best of things and try 
to be as good as they can, sometimes have fun 
unawares. 


32 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


When the Gardener was steadying his ladder 
against the trunk of the cherry-tree, there was 
suddenly heard the barking of a dog, and a 
very fierce dog too. First it seemed close beside 
them, ’ then in the flower-garden, then in the 
fowl-yard. 

Gardener dropped the ladder out of his hands. 
“It’s that Boxer! He has got loose again! He will 
be running after my chickens, and dragging his 
broken chain all over my borders. And he is so 
fierce, and so delighted to get free. He’ll bite any¬ 
body who ties him up, except me.’’ 

“Hadn’t you better go and see after him?’’ 

Gardener thought it was the eldest boy who 
spoke, and turned round angrily; but the little fellow 
had never opened his lips. 

Here there was heard a still louder bark, and 
from a quite different part of the garden. 

“There he is—I’m sure of it! jumping over my 
bedding-out plants, and breaking my cucumber 
frames. Abominable beast!—just let me catch 
him! ’’ 

Off Gardener darted in a violent passion, throw¬ 
ing the ladder down upon the grass, and forgetting 
all about the cherries and the children. 

The instant he was gone, a shrill laugh, loud 
and merry, was heard close by, and a little 
brown old man’s face peeped from behind the 
cherry-tree. 



BROWNIE AND THE CHERRY-TREE 33 


A shrill laugh, loud and merry, was heard close by, and a little brown old man's face 
peeped from behind the cherry-tree 

“How-d’ye-do? Boxer was me. Didn’t I bark 
well? Now I’m come to play with you.” 

The children clapped their hands; for they 
knew they were going to have some fun if 
Brownie was there—he was the best little play¬ 
fellow in the world. And then they had him all 
to themselves. Nobody ever saw him except the 
children. 

“Come on!” cried he, in his shrill voice, half 
like an old man’s, half like a baby’s. “Who’ll begin 
to gather the cherries?” 









34 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

They all looked blank; for the tree was so high 
to where the branches sprung, and besides, their 
mother had said they were not to climb. And the 
ladder lay flat upon the grass — far too heavy for 
little hands to move. 

“What! you big boys don’t expect a poor little 
fellow like me to lift the ladder all by myself? 
Try! I’ll help you.” 

Whether he helped or not, no sooner had they 
taken hold of the ladder than it rose up, almost of 
its own accord, and fixed itself quite safely against 
the tree. 

“But we must not climb; mother told us not,” 
said the boys ruefully. “Mother said we were to 
stand at the bottom and pick up the cherries.” 

“Very well. Obey your mother. I’ll just run 
up the tree myself.” 

Before the words were out of his mouth Brownie 
had darted up the ladder like a monkey, and dis¬ 
appeared among the fruit-laden branches. 

The children looked dismayed for a minute, till 
they saw a merry brown face peeping out from the 
green leaves at the very top of the tree. 

“Biggest fruit always grows highest,” cried 
the Brownie; “stand in a row, all you children. 
Little boys, hold out your caps: little girls, make 
a bag of your pinafores. Open your mouths 
and shut your eyes, and see what the queen will 
send you.” 


BROWNIE AND THE CHERRY-TREE 35 

They laughed and did as they were told; 
whereupon they were drowned in a shower of 
cherries—cherries falling like hailstones, hit¬ 
ting them on their heads, their cheeks, their 
noses — filling their caps and pinafores, and then 
rolling and tumbling on to the grass, till it was 
strewn thick as leaves in autumn with the rosy 
fruit. 

What a glorious scramble they had! — these three 
little boys and three little girls. How they laughed 
and jumped and knocked heads together in picking 
up the cherries—yet never quarrelled, for there 
were such heaps, it would have been ridiculous 
to squabble over them; and besides, whenever 
they began to quarrel, Brownie always ran away. 
Now he was the merriest of the lot; ran up 
and down the tree like a cat, helped to pick up 
the cherries, and was first-rate at filling the large 
market-basket. 

“We were to eat as many as we liked, only we 
must first fill the basket,’’ conscientiously said the 
eldest girl; upon which they all set to at once, and 
filled it to the brim. 

“Now we’ll have a dinner party,” cried the 
Brownie; and squatted down like a Turk, crossing 
his queer little legs, and sticking his elbows upon 
his knees in a way that nobody but a Brownie 
could manage. “Sit in a ring! sit in a ring! and 
we’ll see who can eat fastest.” 


36 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

The children obeyed. How many cherries 
they devoured, and how fast they did it, 
passes my capacity of telling. I only hope 
they were not ill next day, and that all the 
cherry-stones they swallowed by mistake did 
not disagree with them. But perhaps nothing 
does disagree with one when one dines with a 
Brownie. 

They ate so much, laughing in equal proportion, 
that they had quite forgotten the Gardener—when 
all of a sudden they heard him clicking angrily 
the orchard gate, and talking to himself as he 
walked through. 

“That nasty dog! It wasn’t Boxer after all! 
A nice joke! to find him quietly asleep in his 
kennel — after having hunted him, as I thought, 
from one end of the garden to the other! Now 
for the cherries and the children — Bless us, where 
are the children? And the cherries! Why, the 
tree is as bare as a blackthorn in February! 
The starlings have been at it, after all. Oh, dear! 
Oh dear!’’ 

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” echoed a voice from behind 
the tree, followed by shouts of mocking laughter. 
Not from the children — they sat as demure as 
possible, all in a ring, with their hands before them, 
and in the centre the huge basket of cherries, piled 
as full as it could possibly hold. But the Brownie 
had disappeared. 


BROWNIE AND THE CHERRY-TREE 


37 



The children set demurely in a ring and in the center was a huge basket piled as high with 
cherries as it could hold 


“You naughty brats, I’ll have you punished!” 
cried the Gardener, furious at the laughter, for he 
never laughed himself. But as there was nothing 
wrong; the cherries being gathered, a very large 
crop, and the ladder found safe in its place — it was 
difficult to say what had been the harm done and 
who had done it. 

So he went growling back to the house, carrying 
the cherries to the mistress, who coaxed him into 
good temper again, as she sometimes did; bidding 
also the children to behave well to him, since he 
was an old man, and not really bad — only cross. 
As for the little folks, she had not the slightest 






38 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


intention of punishing them; and as for Brownie, 
it was impossible to catch him. So nobody was 
punished at all 



ADVENTURE THE THIRD 



tl I wasn't laughing," said the Gardener's wife angrily 







Which was a place where he did not often go, 
for he preferred being warm and snug in the house. 
But when he felt himself ill-used, he would wander 
anywhere, in order to play tricks upon those whom 
he thought had done him harm. For being only a 
Brownie, and not a man, he did not understand that 
the best way to revenge yourself upon your enemies 
is either to let them alone or to pay them back 
good for evil. It disappoints them so much, and 
makes them so exceedingly ashamed of themselves. 

One day Brownie overheard the Gardener advis¬ 
ing the Cook to put into his bowl at night sour 
milk instead of sweet. 

“He’d never find out the difference, no more 
than the pigs do. Indeed it’s my belief that a 
pig, or dog, or something, empties the bowl, and 
not a Brownie at all. It’s just clean waste — that’s 
what I say.’’ 

“Then you’d better hold your tongue, and mind 
your own business,” returned the Cook, who was 
a sharp temper, and would not stand being meddled 
with. She began to abuse the Gardener soundly; 

41 










42 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

but his wife, who was standing by, took his part, 
as she always did when any third party scolded 
him. So they all squabbled together, till Brownie, 
hid under his coal, put his little hands over his 
little ears. 

“Dear me, what a noise these mortals do make 
when they quarrel! They quite deafen me. I must 
teach them better manners.” 

But when the Cook slammed the door to, and 
left Gardener and his wife alone, they two began 
to dispute between themselves. 

“You make such a fuss over your nasty pigs, 
and get all the scraps for them,” said the wife. 
“It’s of much more importance that I should have 
everything Cook can spare for my chickens. Never 
were such fine chickens as my last brood!” 

“I thought they were ducklings.” 

“How you catch me up, you rude old man! 
They are ducklings, and beauties too — even though 
they have never seen water. Where’s the pond 
you promised to make for me, I wonder?” 

“Rubbish, woman! If my cows do without a 
pond, your ducklings may. And why will you be 
so silly as to rear ducklings at all? Fine fat 
chickens are a deal better. You’ll find out your 
mistake some day!” 

“And so will you when that old Alderney runs 
dry. You’ll wish you had taken my advice and 
fattened and sold her.” 


BROWNIE IN THE FARMYARD 


43 


“Alderney cows won’t sell for fattening, and 
woman’s advice is never worth twopence. Yours 
isn’t worth a halfpenny. What are you laughing 
at?” 

“I wasn’t laughing,” said the wife angrily; 
and in truth it was not she, but little Brownie, 
running under the barrow which the Gardener 
was wheeling along, and very much amused that 
people should be so silly as to squabble about 
nothing. 

It was still early morning; for whatever this 
old couple’s faults might be, laziness was not one 
of them. The wife rose with the dawn to feed her 
poultry and collect her eggs; the husband also got 
through as much work by breakfast-time as many 
an idle man does by noon. But Brownie had been 
beforehand with them this day. 

When all the fowls came running to be fed, the 
big Brahma hen who had hatched the ducklings 
was seen wandering forlornly about, and clucking 
mournfully for her young brood — she could not 
find them anywhere. Had she been able to speak, 
she might have told how a large white Aylesbury 
duck had waddled into the farmyard, and waddled 
out again, coaxing them after her, no doubt in 
search of a pond. But missing they were, most 
certainly. 

“Cluck, cluck, cluck!” mourned the miserable hen- 
mother,— and “Oh, my ducklings, my ducklings!” 


44 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

cried the Gardener’s wife, — “Who can have carried 
off my beautiful ducklings?’’ 

“Rats, maybe,’’ said the Gardener, cruelly, as 
he walked away. And as he went he heard the 
squeak of a rat below his wheelbarrow. But he 
could not catch it, any more than his wife could 
catch the Aylesbury duck. Of course not. Both 
were—-the Brownie! 

Just at this moment the six little people came 
running into the farmyard. When they had been 
particularly good, they were sometimes allowed to 
go with Gardener a-milking, each carrying his or 
her own mug for a drink of milk, warm from the 
cow. They scampered after him — a noisy tribe, beg¬ 
ging to be taken down to the field, and holding 
out their six mugs entreatingly. 

“What! six cupfuls of milk, when I haven’t a 
drop to spare, and Cook is always wanting more? 
Ridiculous nonsense! Get along with you; you may 
come to the field — I can’t hinder that — but you’ll 
get no milk this day. Take your mugs back again 
to the kitchen.’’ 

The poor little folks made the best of a bad 
business, and obeyed; then followed Gardener down 
to the field rather dolefully. But it was such a 
beautiful morning that they soon recovered their 
spirits. The grass shone with dew, like a sheet of 
diamonds, the clover smelt so sweet, and two sky¬ 
larks were singing at one another high up in the 


BROWNIE IN THE FARMYARD 


45 



A large rabbit dodged in and out and nearly threw Gardener down, pail and all 

sky. Several rabbits darted past, to their great 
amusement, especially one very large rabbit, brown, 
not gray, which dodged them in and out, and once 
nearly threw Gardener down, pail and all, by run¬ 
ning across his feet; — which set them all laughing 
till they came where Dolly the cow lay chewing the 
cud under a large oak-tree. 

It was great fun to stir her up — as usual—and 
lie down, one after the other, in the place where 









46 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


she had lain all night long, making the grass flat, 
and warm and perfumy with her sweet breath. She 
let them do it, and then stood meekly by; for Dolly 
was the gentlest cow in the world. 

But this morning something strange seemed to 
possess her. She altogether refused to be milked — 
kicked, plunged, tossed over the pail, which was 
luckily empty. 

“Bless the cow! what’s wrong with her? It’s 
surely you children’s fault. Stand off, the whole 
lot of you. Soh, Dolly! good Dolly!” 

But Dolly was anything but good. She stood, 
switching her tail and looking as savage as so mild 
an animal possibly could look. 

“It’s all your doing, you naughty children! 
You’ve been playing her some trick, I know,” cried 
the Gardener in great wrath. 

They assured him they had done nothing, 
and indeed they looked as quiet as mice and as 
innocent as lambs. At length the biggest boy 
pointed out a large wasp which had settled in 
Dolly’s ear. 

“That accounts for everything,” said the 
Gardener. 

But it did not mend everything; for when he tried 
to drive it away it kept coming back and back 
again, and buzzing round his own head, and the 
cow’s, with a voice that the children thought was 
less like the buzz of a wasp than the sound of a 


BROWNIE IN THE FARMYARD 


47 


person laughing. At length it frightened Dolly to 
such an extent that with one wild bound she darted 
right away, and galloped off to the farther end of 
the field. 

“I’ll get a rope and tie her legs together,” cried 
the Cardener fiercely. “She shall repent giving me 
all this trouble — that she shall!” 

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed somebody. The Gardener 
thought it was the children, and gave one of them 
an angry cuff as he walked away. But they knew 
it was somebody else, and were not at all surprised 
when, the minute his back was turned, Dolly came 
walking quietly back, led by a little wee brown 
man who scarcely reached up to her knees. Yet 
she let him guide her, which he did as gently as 
possible, though the string he held her by was 
no thicker than a spider web, floating from one of 
her horns. 

“Soh, Dolly! good Dolly!” cried Brownie, mim¬ 
icking the Gardener’s voice. “Now we’ll see what 
we can do. I want my breakfast badly — don’t you, 
little folks?” 

Of course they did, for the morning air made 
them very hungry. 

“Very well —wait a bit, though. Old people 
should be served first you know. Besides, I want 
to go to bed.” 

Go to bed in the daylight! The children all 
laughed, and then looked quite shy and sorry, lest 


48 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


they might have seemed rude to the Brownie. But 
he—he liked fun; and never took offense when none 

was meant. 

He placed himself on the milking-stool, which 
was so high that his little legs were dangling half¬ 
way down, and milked and milked — Dolly standing 
as still as possible — till he had filled the whole pail. 
Most astonishing cow! she gave as much as two 
cows; — and such delicious milk as it was—all 
frothing and yellow—richer than even Dolly’s milk 
had ever been before. The children’s mouths 
watered for it, but not a word said they,—even 
when, instead of giving it to them, Brownie put 
his own mouth to the pail, and drank and drank, 
till it seemed as if he were never going to stop. 
But it was decidedly a relief to them when he 
popped his head up again, and lo! the pail was as 
full as ever! 

“Now, little ones, now’s your turn. Where are 
your mugs?” 

All answered mournfully, “We’ve got none. 
Gardener made us take them back again.” 

“Never mind —all right. Gather me half-a-dozen 
of the biggest buttercups you can find.” 

“What nonsense!” thought the children; but they 
did it. Brownie laid the flowers in a row upon the 
eldest girl’s lap—blew upon them one by one, 
and each turned into the most beautiful golden cup 
that ever was seen! 



Dolly came walking quietly back, led by a little wee brown man. 














50 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

“Now, then, every one take his own mug, and 
I’ll fill it.’’ 

He milked away — each child got a drink, and 
then the cups were filled again. And all the while 
Dolly stood as quiet as possible — looking benignly 
round, as if she would be happy to supply milk to 
the whole parish, if the Brownie desired it. 

“Soh, Dolly! Thank you, Dolly!” said he again, 
mimicking the Gardener’s voice, half growling, half 
coaxing. And while he spoke, the real voice was 
heard behind the hedge. There was a sound as of 
a great wasp flying away, which made Dolly prick 
up her ears, and look as if the old savageness was 
coming back upon her. The children snatched up 
their mugs, but there was no need, they had all 
turned into buttercups again. 

Gardener, with an old rope in his hand jumped 
over the stile, as cross as two sticks. 

“Oh, what a bother I’ve had! Breakfast ready, 
and no milk yet—and such a row as they are 
making over those lost ducklings. Stand back, you 
children, and don’t hinder me a minute. No use 
begging—not a drop of milk shall you get. Hillo, 
Dolly? Quiet, old girl!” 

Quiet enough she was this time — but you might 
as well have milked a plaster cow in a London 
milk-shop. Not one ringing drop resounded against 
the empty pail; for, when they peeped in, the 
children saw to their amazement that it was empty. 


BROWNIE IN THE FARMYARD 


51 


“The creature’s bewitched!” cried the Gardener 
in a great fury. “Or else somebody has milked 
her dry already. Have you done it? or you?” he 
asked each of the children. 

They might have said No—which was the 
literal truth — but then it would not have been 
the whole truth, for they knew quite well 
that Dolly had been milked, and also who had 
done it. And their mother had always taught 
them that to make a person believe a lie is nearly 
as bad as telling him one. Yet still they 
did not like to betray the kind little Brownie. 
Greatly puzzled, they hung their heads and said 
nothing. 

“Look in your pail again,” cried a voice from 
the other side of Dolly. And there at the bottom 
was just the usual quantity of milk — no more and 
no less. 

The Gardener was very much astonished. “ It 
must be the Brownie!” muttered he in a frightened 
tone: and, taking off his hat, “Thank you, sir,” 
said he to Mr. Nobody — at which the children all 
burst out laughing. But they kept their own 
counsel, and he was afraid to ask them any more 
questions. 

By-and-by his fright wore off a little. “ I 
only hope the milk is good milk, and will 
poison nobody,” said he sulkily. “However, 
that’s not my affair. You children had better 


52 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

tell your mother all about it. I left her in the 
farmyard in a pretty state of mind about her 
ducklings.” 

Perhaps Brownie heard this, and was sorry, for 
he liked the children’s mother, who had always 
been kind to him. Besides, he never did anybody 
harm who did not deserve it; and though, being 
a Brownie, he could hardly be said to have a 
conscience; he had something which stood in the 
place of one, a liking to see people happy rather 
than miserable. 

So instead of going to bed under his big coal 
for the day, when, after breakfast, the children 
and their mother came out to look at a new brood 
of chickens, he crept after them, and hid behind 
the hen-coop where the old mother-hen was put 
with her young ones round her. 

There had been great difficulty in getting her 
in there, for she was a hen who hatched her brood 
on independent principles. Instead of sitting upon 
the nice nest that the Gardener made for her, she 
had twice gone into a little wood close by and 
made a nest for herself, which nobody could ever 
find; and where she hatched in secret, coming 
every second day to be fed; and then vanishing 
again, till at last she reappeared in triumph, with 
her chickens running after her. In the first brood 
there had been twelve, but of this there were 
fourteen—all from her own eggs, of course, 


BROWNIE IN THE FARMYARD 


53 


and she was uncommonly proud of them. So 
was the Gardener, so was the mistress—who liked 
all young things. Such a picture as they 
were! fourteen soft, yellow, fluffy things—run¬ 
ning about after their mother. It had been a 
most troublesome business to catch—first her, 
and then them, to put them under the coop. 
The old hen resisted, and pecked furiously at 
Gardener’s legs, and the chickens ran about in 
frantic terror, chirping wildly in answer to her 
clucking. 

At last, however, the little family was safe in 
shelter, and the chickens counted over to see that 
none had been lost in the scuffle. How funny they 
were! looking so innocent and yet so wise, as chick¬ 
ens do — peering out at the world from under their 
mother’s wing, or hopping over her back, or snug¬ 
gled all together under her breast, so that nothing 
was seen of them but a mass of yellow legs, like a 
great centipede. 

“How happy the old hen is,” said the children’s 
mother, looking on, and then looking compas¬ 
sionately at that other forlorn old hen, who had 
hatched the ducklings, and kept wandering about 
the farmyard, clucking miserably. “Those poor 
ducklings, what can have become of them? If 
rats had killed them we should have found feathers 
or something: and weasels would have sucked their 
brains and left them. They must have been stolen, 


54 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


or wandered away, and died of cold and hunger — 
my poor ducklings!” 

The mistress sighed, for she could not bear any 
living thing to suffer. And the children nearly cried 
at the thought of what might be happening to their 
pretty ducklings. That very minute a little wee 
brown face peered through a hole in the hen coop, 
making the old mother-hen fly furiously at it—as 
she did at the slightest shadow of an enemy to her 
little ones. 

However, no harm happened—only a guinea- 
fowl suddenly ran across the farmyard, screaming 
in its usual harsh voice. But it was not the usual 
sort of guinea-fowl, being larger and handsomer 
than any of theirs. 

“Oh, what a beauty of a creature! How 
did it ever come into our farmyard ? ” cried the 
delighted children; and started off after it, to 
catch it if possible. 

But they ran and they ran — through the gate 
and out into the lane; and the guinea-fowl still ran 
on before them, until turning round a corner they 
lost sight of it, and immediately saw something 
else, equally curious. 

Sitting on the top of a big thistle—so big that 
he must have had to climb it just like a tree — 
was the Brownie. His legs were crossed, and his 
arms too; his little brown cap was stuck knowingly 
on one side, and he was laughing heartily. 


BROWNIE IN THE FARMYARD 


55 


“How do you do? Here I am again. I thought 
I would n’t go to bed after all. Shall 1 help you 
to find the ducklings? Very well! come along.” 

They crossed the field, Brownie running beside 
them and as fast as they could, though he looked 
such an old man; and sometimes turning over on 
legs and arms like a Catherine wheel—which they 
tried to imitate, but generally failed, and only 
bruised their fingers and noses. 

He lured them on and on till they came to the 
wood, and to a green path in it, which, well as they 
knew the neighborhood, none of the children had 
ever seen before. It led to a most beautiful pond, 
as clear as crystal and as blue as the sky. Large 
trees grew around it, dipping their branches in the 
water as if they were looking at themselves in a 
glass. And all about their roots were quantities 
of primroses—the biggest primroses the children had 
ever seen. 

Down they dropped on their fat knees; squashing 
down more primroses than they gathered, though 
they tried to gather them all; and the smallest 
child even began to cry because her hands were so 
full that the flowers dropped through her fingers. 

But the boys, older and more practical, rather 
despised primroses. 

“I thought we had come to look for ducklings,” 
said the eldest. “Mother is fretting dreadfully 
about her ducklings. Where can they be?” 


56 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 



When they opened their eyes, what should they behold but a whole fleet of ducklings 

“Shut your eyes and you’ll see,’’ said the Brownie, 
at which they all laughed, but did it; and when 
they opened their eyes again, what should they 
behold but a whole fleet of ducklings, sailing out 
from the roots of an old willow tree, one after the 
other, looking as fat and content as possible, and 
swimming as naturally as if they had lived on a 
pond—and this particular pond—, all their days. 

“Count them,” said the Brownie, “the whole 
eight — quite correct. And then try and catch 
them — if you can.” 

Easier said than done. The boys set to work 
with great satisfaction—boys do so enjoy hunting 









BROWNIE IN THE FARMYARD 


57 


something. They coaxed them — they shouted at 
them — they threw little sticks at them; but as 
soon as they wanted them to go one way the fleet 
of ducklings immediately turned round and sailed 
another way, doing it so deliberately and majes¬ 
tically, that the children could not help laughing. As 
for little Brownie, he sat on a branch of the willow 
tree, with his legs dangling down to the surface of 
the pond, kicking at the water spiders, and grinning 
with all his might. 

At length, quite tired out, in spite of their fun, 
the children begged for his help, and he took 
compassion on them. 

“Turn round three times and see what you can 
find,” shouted he. 

Immediately each little boy found in his arms, 
and each little girl in her pinafore, a fine, fat 
duckling. And there being eight of them, the two 
elder children had each a couple. They were rather 
cold and damp, and slightly uncomfortable to 
cuddle, ducks not being used to cuddling. Poor 
things! they struggled hard to get away. But the 
children hugged them tight, and ran as fast as 
their legs could carry them through the wood, 
forgetting in their joy even to say “Thank you” 
to the little Brownie. 

When they reached their mother she was as glad 
as they, for she never thought to see her duck¬ 
lings again; and to have them back all alive 


58 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


and uninjured, and watch them running to the 
old hen, who received them with an ecstasy of 
delight, was so exciting, that nobody thought of 
asking a single question as to where they had 
been found. 

When the mother did ask, the children told her 
all about Brownie’s taking them to the beautiful 
pond — and what a wonderful pond it was: how 
green the trees were round it; and how large the 
primroses grew. They never tired of talking about 
it, and seeking for it. But the odd thing was, that 
seek as they might, they never could find it again. 
Many a day did the little people roam about, one 
by one or all together, round the wood, and across 
the wood, and up and down the wood, often get¬ 
ting themselves sadly draggled with mud, and torn 
with brambles—but the beautiful pond they never 
found again. 

Nor did the ducklings, I suppose; for they wan¬ 
dered no more from the farmyard, to the old mother 
hen’s great content. They grew up into fat and 
respectable ducks—five white ones and three gray 
ones—waddling about, very content, though they 
never saw water, except the tank which was placed 
for them to paddle in. They lived a lazy, peaceful, 
pleasant life for a long time, and were at last killed 
and eaten with green peas, one after the other, to 
the family’s great satisfaction, if not to their own. 


ADVENTURE THE FOURTH 




More than once Cook allowed her to walk in at the hack door. 














For the little Brownie, though not given to 
horsemanship, did once take a ride, and a very 
remarkable one it was. Shall I tell you all 
about it? 

The six little children got a present of some¬ 
thing they had longed for all their lives — a pony. 
Not a rocking-horse, but a real live pony— 
a Shetland pony, too, which had traveled all the 
way from the Shetland Isles to Devonshire — where 
everybody wondered at it, for such a creature 
had not been seen in the neighborhood for years 
and years. She was no bigger than a donkey, 
and her coat, instead of being smooth like a 
horse’s, was shaggy, like a young bear’s. She had 
a long tail, which had never been cut, and such 

a deal of hair in her mane and over her eyes 

that it gave her quite a fierce countenance. In 

fact, among the mild and tame Devonshire 
beasts, the little Shetland pony looked almost 

like a wild animal. 

But in reality she was the gentlest creature in 
the world. Before she had been many days with 
61 







62 THE ADVENTURES'OF A BROWNIE 

them, she began to know the children quite well: 
followed them about, ate corn out of the bowl 
they held out to her; nay, one day when the 
eldest little girl offered her bread-and-butter, she 
stooped her head and took it from the child’s hand, 
just like a young lady. Indeed, Jess—that was 
her name — was altogether so lady-like in her 
behavior that more than once Cook allowed her 
to walk in at the back door, where she stood 
politely warming her nose at the kitchen fire 
for a minute or two, then turned round and as 
politely walked out again. But she never did any 
mischief; and was so quiet and gentle a creature 
that she bade fair soon to become as great a 
pet in the household as the dog, the cat, the 
kittens, the puppies, the fowls, the ducks, the 
cow, the pig, and all the other members of 
the family. 

The only one who disliked her, and grumbled 
at her, was the Gardener. This was odd; because, 
though cross to children, the old man was kind to 
dumb beasts. Even his pig knew his voice and 
grunted, and held out his nose to be scratched, 
and he always gave each successive pig a name, 
Jack or Dick, and called them by it, and was quite 
affectionate to them, one after the other, until the 
very day that they were killed. But they were 
English pigs — and the pony was Scotch—and the 
Devonshire Gardener hated everything Scotch, 


BROWNIE’S RIDE 


63 


he said; besides, he was not used to groom’s 
work, and the pony required such a deal of groom¬ 
ing on account of her long hair. More than once 
Gardener threatened to clip it short, and turn 
her into a regular English pony; but the children 
were in such distress at this, that the mistress and 
mother forbade any such spoiling of Jess’s personal 
appearance. 

At length, to keep things smooth, and to avoid 
the rough words and even blows which poor 
Jess sometimes got, they sought in the village 

for a boy to look after her, and found a great 
rough, shock-headed lad named Bill, who for a 

few shillings a week consented to come up every 
morning and learn the beginning of a groom’s 

business; hoping to end, as his mother said he 

should, in sitting, like the squire’s fat coachman, 
as broad as he was long, on the top of the 
hammercloth of a grand carriage, and do 
nothing all day but drive a pair of horses as 
stout as himself a few miles along the road and 
back again. 

Bill would have liked this very much, he thought, 
if he could have been a coachman all at once, for 
if there was one thing he disliked, it was work. 
He much preferred to lie in the sun all day and 
do nothing; and he only agreed to come and take 
care of Jess because she was such a very little pony 
that looking after her seemed next door to doing 


64 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

nothing. But when he tried it he found his mis¬ 
take. True, Jess was a very gentle beast; so 
quiet that the old mother hen with fourteen chicks 
used, instead of roosting with the rest of the fowls, 
to come regularly into the portion of the cowshed 
which was partitioned off for a stable, and settle 
under a corner of Jess’s manger for the night; and 
in the morning the chicks would be seen running 
about fearlessly among her feet and under her very 
nose. 

But for all that she required a little manage¬ 
ment, for she did not like her long hair to be roughly 
handled; it took a long time to clean her, and 
though she did not scream out like some silly little 
children when her hair was combed, I am afraid 
she sometimes kicked and bounced about, giving 
Bill a deal of trouble—all the more trouble, the 
more impatient Bill was. 

And then he had to keep within call, for the 
children wanted their pony at all hours. She was 
their own especial property, and they insisted upon 
learning to ride—even before they got a saddle. 
Hard work it was to stick on Jess’s bare back, 
but by degrees the boys did it, turn and turn 
about, and even gave their sisters a turn too — a 
very little one—just once round the field and back 
again, which was quite enough, they considered, for 
girls. But they were very kind to their little sisters, 
held them on so that they could not fall, and led 


BROWNIE’S RIDE 


65 



They were very kind to their little sisters, held them on so they could not fall, 
and led Jess carefully 

Jess carefully and quietly; and altogether behaved 
as elder brothers should. 

Nor did they squabble very much among them¬ 
selves, though sometimes it was rather difficult to 
keep their turns all fair, and remember accurately 
which was which. But they did their best, being 
on the whole extremely good children. And they 
were so happy to have their pony that they would 
have been ashamed to quarrel over her. 

Also, one very curious thing kept them on their 
good behavior. Whenever they did begin to mis¬ 
conduct themselves, to want to ride out of their 
turns, or to domineer over one another, or the 
boys, joining together, tried to domineer over the 








66 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

girls, as I grieve to say boys not seldom do, they 
used to hear in the air, right over their heads, the 
crack of an unseen whip. It was not theirs, 
for not one of them had a whip; that was a 
felicity which their father had promised when 
they could all ride like young gentlemen and 
ladies; but there was no mistaking the sound — 
indeed, it always startled Jess so much that she 
set off galloping, and could not be caught again 
for many minutes. 

This happened several times, until one of them 
said, “Perhaps it’s the Brownie.” Whether it was 
or not, it made them behave better for a good 
while: till one unfortunate day the two eldest 
began contending which should ride foremost and 
which hindmost on Jess’s back, when “Crick— 
crack!” went the whip in the air, frightening the 
pony so much that she kicked up her heels, tossed 
both the boys over her head, and scampered off, 
followed by a loud “Ha, ha, ha!” 

It certainly did not come from the two boys, 
who had fallen — quite safely, but rather unpleas¬ 
antly— into a large nettle-bed; whence they crawled 
out rubbing their arms and legs, and looking too 
much ashamed to complain. But they were rather 
frightened and a little cross, for Jess took a skittish 
fit, and refused to be caught or mounted again, 
till the bell rang for school — when she grew as 
meek as possible. Too late — for the children were 


BROWNIE’S RIDE 


67 


obliged to run indoors, and got no more rides for 
the whole day. 

Jess was from this incident supposed to be on 
the same friendly terms with Brownie as were the 
rest of the household. Indeed, when she came, the 
children had taken care to lead her up to his coal- 
cellar door and introduce her to him properly—- 
for Brownie was very jealous of strangers and 
often played them tricks. But after that piece of 
civility he would be sure, they thought, to take 
her under his protection. And sometimes^ when 
the little Shetlander was restless and pricked up 
her ears, looking preternaturally wise under those 
shaggy brows of hers, the children used to say to 
one another, “ Perhaps she sees the Brownie.” 

Whether she did or not, Jess sometimes seemed 
to see a good deal that others did not see, and 
was apparently a favorite with the Brownie, 
for she grew and thrived so much that she soon 
became the pride and delight of the children and 
of the whole family. You would hardly have 
known her for the rough, shaggy, half-starved 
little beast that had arrived a few weeks before. 
Her coat was so silky, her limbs so graceful, and 
her head so full of intelligence, that everybody 
admired her. Then, even Gardener began to 
admire her too. 

“I think I’ll get upon her back, it will save me 
walking down to the village,” said he one day. 


68 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

And she actually carried him —though, as his feet 
nearly touched the ground, it looked as if the man 
were carrying the pony and not the pony the man. 
And the children laughed so immoderately that he 
never tried it afterwards. 

Nor Bill neither, though he had once thought he 
should like a ride, and got astride on Jess—but she 
quickly ducked her head down, and he tumbled 
over it. Evidently she had her own tastes as to 
her riders, and much preferred little people to big 
ones. 

Pretty Jess! when cantering round the paddock 
with the young folk, she really was quite a picture. 
And when at last she got a saddle — a new, beautiful 
saddle, with a pommel to take off and on, so as 
to suit both boys and girls—how proud they all 
were, Jess included! That day they were allowed 
to take her into the market-town — Gardener leading 
her, as Bill could not be trusted — and everybody, 
even the blacksmith, who hoped by and by to have 
the pleasure of shoeing her, said what a beautiful 
pony she was! 

After this, Gardener treated Jess a great deal 
better, and showed Bill how to groom her, and kept 
him close at it, too, which Bill did not like at all. 
He was a very lazy lad, and whenever he could 
shirk work he did it, and many a time when the 
children wanted Jess, either there was nobody to 
saddle her, or she had not been properly groomed, 


BROWNIE’S RIDE 


69 


or Bill was away at his dinner, and they had 
to wait till he came back and could put her in 
order to be taken out for a ride like a genteel 
animal — which I am afraid neither pony nor chil¬ 
dren enjoyed half so much as the old ways before 
Bill came. 

Still, they were gradually becoming excellent little 
horsemen and horsewomen, even the youngest, 
only four years old, whom all the rest were very 
tender over, and who was often held on Jess’s 
back and given a ride out of her turn because 
she was a good little girl and never cried for it. 
And seldomer and seldomer was heard the 
mysterious sound of the whip in the air, which 
warned them against quarrelling — Brownie hated 
quarreling. 

In fact, their only trouble was Bill, who never 
came to his work in time, and never did things 
when wanted, and was ill-natured, lazy, and cross 
to the children, so that they disliked him very 
much. 

“I wish the Brownie would punish you,” said 
one of the boys; “you’d behave better then.” 

“The Brownie!” cried Bill contemptuously, 
“if I caught him I’d kick him up in the air, like 
this!” 

And he kicked up his cap—his only cap, it 
was—which, strange to relate, flew right up ever 
so high, and lodged at the very top of a tree which 


70 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

overhung the stable, where it dangled for weeks 
and weeks, during which time poor Bill had to go 
bareheaded. 

He was very much vexed, and revenged him¬ 
self by vexing the children in all sorts of ways. 
They would have told their mother, and asked her 
to send Bill away, only she had a great many 
anxieties just then, for their dear old grandmother 
was very ill, and they did not like to make a fuss 
about anything that would trouble her. 

So Bill stayed on, and nobody found out what 
a bad, ill-natured, lazy boy he was. 

But one day the mother was sent for suddenly 
to her mother, not knowing when she should 
be able to come home again. She was very sad, 
and so were the children, for they loved their 
grandmother—and as the carriage drove off 
they all stood crying round the front door for 
ever so long. 

The servants even cried too — all but Bill. 

“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,’’ 
said he. “What a jolly time I shall have! I’ll 
do nothing all day long. Those troublesome chil¬ 
dren sha’n’t have Jess to ride; I’ll keep her in 
the stable and then she won’t get dirty, and I 
shall have no trouble in cleaning her. Hurrah! 
what fun!” 

He put his hands in his pockets, and sat 
whistling the best part of the afternoon. 


BROWNIE’S RIDE 


71 


The children had been so unhappy that for 
that day they quite forgot Jess; but next morn¬ 
ing after lessons were over, they came, begging for 
a ride. 

“You can’t get one. The stable-door’s locked, 
and I’ve lost the key.” (He had it in his pocket 
all the time.) 

“How is poor Jess to get her dinner?” cried a 
thoughtful little girl. “Oh, how hungry she will be!” 

And the child was quite in distress, as were the 
two other girls. But the boys were more angry 
than sorry. 

“It was very stupid of you, Bill, to lose the 
key. Look about and find it, or else break open 
the door.” 

“I won’t,” said Bill. “I dare say the key will 
turn up before night, and if it doesn’t—who 
cares? You get riding enough and too much. I’ll 
not bother myself about it, or Jess either.” 

And Bill sauntered away. He was a big fellow 
and the little lads were rather afraid of him. But 
as he walked, he could not keep his hands out of 
his trousers-pocket, where the key felt growing 
heavier and heavier, till he expected it every 
minute to tumble through, and come out of his 
boots—convicting him before all the children of 
having told a lie. 

Nobody was in the habit of telling lies to them, 
so they never suspected him, but went innocently 


72 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


searching about for the key — Bill all the while 
clutching it fast. But every time he touched it, he 
felt his fingers pinched, as if there was a cockroach 
in his pocket—or a little lobster — or something 
anyhow that had claws. At last, fairly frightened, 
he made an excuse to go into the cowshed, took 
the key out of his pocket and looked at it, and 
finally hid it in a corner of the manger, among the 
hay. 

As he did so, he heard a most extraordinary 
laugh, which was certainly not from Dolly the 
cow, and, as he went out of the shed, he felt the 
same sort of pinch at his ankles, which made 
him so angry that he kept striking with his 
whip in all directions, but hit nobody, for nobody 
was there. 

But Jess —who, as soon as she heard the children’s 
voice, had set up a most melancholy whinnying 
behind the locked stable door—-began to neigh 
energetically. And Boxer barked, and the hens 
cackled, and the guinea-fowls cried, “Come back, 
come back!” in their usual insane fashion — indeed 
the whole farmyard seemed in such an excited state 
that the children got frightened lest Gardener should 
scold them; and ran away, leaving Bill master of 
the field. 

What an idle day he had! How he sat on the 
wall with his hands in his pockets, and lounged 
upon the fence, and sauntered round the garden! 





Bill kept striking with his whip in all directions, but hit nobody 

































74 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

At length, absolutely tired of doing nothing, he 
went and talked with the Gardener’s wife while she 
was hanging out her clothes. Gardener had gone 
down to the lower field, with all the little folks 
after him, so that he knew nothing of Bill’s idling, 
or it might have come to an end. 

By and by Bill thought it was time to go home 
to his supper. “But first I’ll give Jess her corn,” 
said he, “double quantity, and then I need not 
come back to give her her breakfast so early in the 
morning. Soh! you greedy beast. I’ll be at you 
presently if you don’t stop that noise.” 

For Jess, at sound of his footsteps, was heard to 
whinny in the most imploring manner, enough to 
have melted a heart of stone. 

“The key — where on earth did I put the key?” 
cried Bill, whose constant habit it was to lay 
things out of his hand, and then forget where he 
had put them, causing himself endless loss of time 
in searching for them — as now. At last he sud¬ 
denly remembered the corner of the cow’s manger, 
where he felt sure he had left it. But the key 
was not there. 

“You can’t have eaten it, you silly old cow,” 
said he, striking Dolly on the nose as she rubbed 
herself against him —she was an affectionate beast. 
“Nor you, you stupid old hen!” kicking the mother 
of the brood, who, with her fourteen chicks, being 
shut out of their usual roosting-place, — Jess’s 


BROWNIE’S RIDE 


75 


stable—kept pecking about under Dolly’s legs. “It 
can’t have gone without hands—of course it can’t.’’ 
But most certainly the key was gone. 

What in the world should Bill do? Jess kept 
on making a pitiful complaining. No wonder, as 
she had not tasted food since morning. It would 
have made any kind-hearted person quite sad to 
hear her, thinking how exceedingly hungry the 
poor pony must be. 

Little did Bill care for that, or for anything, 
except that he should be sure to get into trouble 
as soon as he was found out. When he heard 
Gardener coming into the farmyard, with the 
children after him, Bill bolted over the wall like a 
flash of lightning, and ran away home, leaving 
poor Jess to her fate. 

All the way he seemed to hear at his heels a 
little dog yelping, and then a swarm of gnats 
buzzing round his head, and altogether was so 
perplexed and bewildered, that when he got into 
his mother’s cottage he escaped into bed, and 
pulled the blanket over his ears to shut out the 
noise of the dog and the gnats, which at last 
turned into a sound like somebody laughing. It 
was not his mother, she didn’t often laugh, poor 
sou l!—Bill bothered her quite too much for that, 
and he knew it. Dreadfully frightened, he hid his 
head under the bedclothes, determined to go to 
sleep and think about nothing till next day. 


76 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

Meantime, Gardener returned with all the little 
people trooping after him. He had been rather 
kinder to them than usual this day, because he 
knew their mother had gone away in trouble, and 
now he let them help him to roll the gravel, 
and fetch up Dolly to be milked, and watch 
him milk her in the cowshed — where, it being 
nearly winter, she always spent the night now. 
They were so well amused that they forgot all 
about their disappointment as to the ride, and 
Jess did not remind them of it by her whin¬ 
nying. For as soon as Bill was gone, she grew 
quite silent. 

At last one little girl, the one who had cried 
over Jess’s being left hungry, remembered the 
poor pony, and peeping through a crevice in the 
cowshed, saw her stand contentedly munching at a 
large bowl full of corn. 

“So Bill did find the key. I’m very glad,” 
thought the kind little maiden, and to make 
sure looked again, when — what do you think she 
beheld squatting on the manger? Something brown, 
either a large brown rat, or a small brown man. 
But she held her tongue, since being a very little 
girl, people sometimes laughed at her for the 
strange things she saw. She was quite certain she 
did see them for all that. 

So she and the rest of the children went indoors 
and to bed. When they were fast asleep, some- 



There, perched on Jess's manger, was a wee brown man 





78 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

thing happened. Something so curious that the 
youngest boy, who, thinking he heard Jess neigh¬ 
ing, got up to look out, was afraid to tell, lest he 
too should be laughed at, and went back to bed 
immediately. 

In the middle of the night, a little old brown 
man, carrying a lantern, or at least having a light 
in his hand that looked like a lantern — went 
and unlocked Jess’s stable, and patted her pretty 
head. At first she started, but soon she grew 
quiet and pleased, and let him do what he chose 
with her. He began rubbing her down, making 
the same funny hissing with his mouth that Bill 
did, and all grooms do—I never could find out why. 
But Jess evidently liked it, and stood as good 
as possible. 

“Isn’t it nice to be clean?” said the wee man, 
talking to her as if she were a human being, or a 
Brownie. “And I dare say your poor little legs 
ache with standing still so long. Shall we have a 
run together? The moon shines bright in the clear, 
cold night. Dear me! I’m talking poetry.” 

But Brownies are not poetical fairies, quite com¬ 
monplace, and up to all sorts of work. So, while he 
talked, he was saddling and bridling Jess, she not 
objecting in the least. Finally he jumped on her 
back. 

‘“Off,” said the stranger; “off, off, and away!’” 
sang Brownie, mimicking a song of the Cook’s. 


BROWNIE’S RIDE 


79 


People in that house often heard their songs 

repeated in the oddest way, from room to room, 
everybody fancying it was somebody else that 

did it. But it was only the Brownie. “Now, 
'A southerly wind and a cloudy sky proclaim it a 
hunting morning!’ ’’ 

Or night—-for it was the middle of the night, 
though bright as day — and Jess galloped and the 
Brownie sat on her back as merrily as if they had 
gone hunting together all their days. 

Such a steeple-chase it was! They cleared 
the farmyard at a single bound, and went flying 
down the road, and across the ploughed field, 

and into the wood. Then out into the open 

country, and by and by into a dark, muddy 
lane — and oh, how muddy Devonshire lanes can 
be sometimes! 

“Let’s go into the water to wash ourselves,” 
said Brownie, and coaxed Jess into a deep stream, 
which she swam as bravely as possible — she had 
not had such a frolic since she left her native 
Shetland Isles. Up the bank she scrambled, her long 
hair dripping as if she had been a water-dog instead 
of a pony. Brownie too shook himself like a rat 
or a beaver, throwing a shower round him in all 
directions. 

“Never mind, at it again, my lass!” and he 
urged Jess into the water once more. Out she 
came, wetter and brisker than ever, and went back 


80 THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 

home through the lane, and the wood, and the 
ploughed field, galloping like the wind, and tossing 
back her ears and mane and tail, perfectly frantic 
with enjoyment. 

But when she reached her stable, the plight she 
was in would have driven any respectable groom 
frantic too. Her sides were white with foam, and 
the mud was sticking all over her like a plaster. 
As for her beautiful long hair, it was all caked 
together in a tangle, as if all the combs in the 
world would never make it smooth again. Her 
mane especially was plaited into knots, which 
people in Devonshire call elf-locks, and say, when 
they find them on their horses, that it is because 
the fairies have been riding them. 

Certainly, poor Jess had been pretty well ridden 
that night! When, just as the dawn began to 
break, Gardener got up and looked into the farm¬ 
yard, his sharp eye caught sight of the stable door, 
wide open. 

“Well done, Bill,” shouted he, “up early at last. 
One hour before breakfast is worth three after.” 

But no Bill was there; only Jess, trembling 
and shaking, all in a foam, and muddy from 
head to foot, but looking perfectly cheerful in 
her mind. And'out from under her forelegs ran a 
small creature, which Gardener mistook for Tiny, 
only Tiny was gray, and this dog was brown, of 
course! 


BROWNIE’S RIDE 


81 


I should not like to tell you all that was said to 
Bill, when, an hour after breakfast time, he came 
skulking up to the farm. In fact, words failing, 
Gardener took a good stick and laid it about Bill’s 
shoulders, saying he would either do this, or tell 
the mistress of him, and how he had left the stable 
door open all night, and some bad fellow had stolen 
Jess, and galloped her all across the country, till, 
if she hadn’t been the cleverest pony in the world, 
she never could have got back again. 

Bill durst not contradict this explanation of the 
story. Especially as the key was found hanging 
up in its proper place by the kitchen door. And 
when he went to fetch it, he heard the most 
extraordinary sound in the coal-cellar close 
by — like somebody snoring or laughing. Bill took 
to his heels, and did not come back for a whole 
hour. 

But when he did come back, he made himself 
as busy as possible. He cleaned Jess, which was 
half-a-day’s work at least. Then he took the little 
people a ride, and afterwards put his stable in the 
most beautiful order, and altogether was such a 
changed Bill, that Gardener told him he must have 
left himself at home and brought back somebody 
else. 

Whether or not, the boy certainly improved, so 
that there was less occasion to find fault with him 
afterwards. 


82 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


Jess lived to be quite an old pony, and carried 
a great many people—little people always, for she 
herself never grew any bigger. But I don’t think 
she ever carried a Brownie again. 




ADVENTURE THE FIFTH 



“One, two, three, and away /” Off they started over the smooth black ice 



















Winter was a grand time with the six little 
children, especially when they had frost and snow. 
This happened seldom enough for it to be the 
greatest possible treat when it did happen; and it 
never lasted very long, for the winters are warm 
in Devonshire. 

There was a little lake three fields off, which 
made the most splendid sliding place imaginable. 
No skaters went near it, it was not large enough; 
and besides, there was nobody to skate, the neigh¬ 
borhood being lonely. The lake itself looked the 
loneliest place imaginable. It was not very deep, 
not deep enough to drown a man, but it had 
a gravelly bottom and was always very clear. 
Also the trees round it grew so thick that they 
sheltered it completely from the wind; so when it 
did freeze, it generally froze as smooth as a sheet 
of glass. 

“The lake bears!’’ was such a grand event, and 
so rare, that when it did occur, the news came 
at once to the farm, and the children carried 
it as quickly to their mother. For she had 
85 










86 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


promised them that, if such a thing did happen 
this year — it did not happen every year — lessons 
should be stopped entirely, and they should all 
go down to the lake and slide, if they liked, all 
day long. 

So, one morning just before Christmas, the 
eldest boy ran in with a countenance of great 
delight. 

“Mother, mother, the lake bears!” (It was 
rather a compliment to call it a lake, it being only 
about twenty yards across and forty long.) “The 
lake really bears!” 

“Who says so?” 

“Bill. Bill has been on it for an hour this 
morning, and has made us two such beautiful 
slides, he says — an up-slide and a down-slide. 
May we go to them directly?” 

The mother hesitated. 

“You promised, you know,” pleaded the children. 

“Very well, then; only be careful.” 

“And may we slide all day long, and never 
come home for dinner or anything?” 

“Yes, if you like. Only Gardener must go with 
you, and stay all day.” 

This they did not like at all; nor when Gardener 
was spoken to, did he. 

“You bothering children! I wish you may all 
get a good ducking in the lake! Serve you right 
for making me lose a day’s work, just to look 


BROWNIE ON THE ICE 87 

after you little monkeys. I’ve a great mind to 
tell your mother I won’t do it.” 

But he did not, being fond of his mistress. 
Gardener was also fond of his work, but he had 
no notion at all of play. I think the saying of “All 
work and no play makes Jack a dull boy” must 
have been applied to him, for Gardener, what¬ 
ever he had been as a boy, was certainly a dull 
and melancholy man. The children used to say 
that if he and idle Bill could have been kneaded 
into one and baked in the oven — a very warm 
oven — they would have come out rather a pleasant 
person. 

As it was, Gardener was anything but a pleasant 
person, above all to spend a long day with — and 
on the ice, where one needs all one’s cheerfulness 
and good-humor to bear pinched fingers and 
numbed toes, and trips, and tumbles, and various 
uncomfortablenesses. 

“He’ll growl at us all day long — he’ll be a 
regular spoil-sport!” lamented the children. “Oh! 
mother mightn’t we go alone?” 

“No!” said the mother; and her “No” meant 
no, though she was always very kind. They argued 
the point no more, but started off rather down¬ 
hearted. But soon they regained their spirits, for 
it was a bright, clear, frosty day — the sun shining, 
though not enough to melt the ice, and just 
sufficient to lie like a thin sprinkling over the 


88 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


grass, and turn the brown branches into white 
ones. The little people danced along to keep them¬ 
selves warm, carrying between them a basket 
which held their lunch. A very harmless lunch it 
was, just a large brown loaf and a lump of cheese, 
and a knife to cut it with. Tossing the basket 
about in their fun, the children managed to tumble 
the knife out, and were having a search for 
it in the long grass when Gardener came up, 
grumpily enough. 

“To think of trusting you children with one of 
the table-knives and a basket! what a fool Cook 
must be! I’ll tell her so and if they’re lost she’ll 
blame me: give me the things.” 

He put the knife angrily in one pocket. 
“Perhaps it will cut a hole in it,” said one of the 
children, in rather a pleased tone than other¬ 
wise; then Gardener turned the lunch all out on 
the grass and crammed it in the other pocket, 
hiding the basket behind a hedge. 

“I’m sure I’ll not be at the trouble of carrying 
it,” said he, when the children cried out at this, 
* “and you sha’n’t carry it either, for you’ll knock 
it about and spoil it. And as for your lunch get¬ 
ting warm in my pocket, why, so much the better 
this cold day. 

It was not a lively joke, and they knew his 
pocket was very dirty; indeed, the little girls 
had seen him stuff a dead rat into it only the day 


BROWNIE ON THE ICE 


89 



The children started to pelt Gardener with snowballs, but at the first — which fell 
tn his neck — he turned round furiously 


before. They looked ready to cry, but there was no 
help for them, except going back and complaining 
to their mother, and they did not like to do that. 
Besides, they knew that though Gardener was 
cross, he was trustworthy, and that mother would 
never let them go down to the lake without him. 

So they followed him, trying to be as good as 
they could — though it was difficult work. One of 
them proposed pelting him with snowballs, as they 
pelted each other. But at the first—which fell in 







90 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


his neck—he turned round so furiously, that they 
never sent a second, but walked behind him as 
meek as mice. 

As they went they heard little steps pattering 
after them. 

“Perhaps it is the Brownie coming to play with 
us—I wish he would,” whispered the youngest girl 
to the eldest boy, whose hand she generally held; 
and then the little pattering steps sounded again, 
travelling through the snow, but they saw nobody — 
so they said nothing. 

The children would have liked to go straight 
to the ice; but Gardener insisted on taking them 
a mile round, to look at an extraordinary ani¬ 
mal which a farmer there had just got — sent 
by his brother in Australia. The two old men 
stood gossiping so long that the children wearied 
extremely. Every minute seemed an hour till they 
got on the ice. 

At last one of them pulled Gardener’s coat tails, 
and whispered that they were quite ready to go. 

“Then I’m not,” and he waited ever so much 
longer, and got a drink of hot cider, which made 
him quite lively for a little while. 

But by the time they reached the lake, he was 
as cross as ever. He struck the ice with his stick, 
but made no attempt to see if it really did bear — 
though he would not allow the children to go one 
step upon it till he had tried. 


BROWNIE ON THE ICE 


91 


“I know it doesn’t bear, and you’ll just have 
to go home again — a good thing, too—saves me 
from losing a day’s work.” 

‘‘Try, only try, Gardener; Bill said it bore,” 
implored the boys, and looked wistfully at the 
two beautiful slides—just as Bill said, one up and 
one down — stretching all across the lake; ‘‘of 
course it bears, or Bill could not have made these 
slides.” 

‘‘Bill’s an ass,” said the Gardener, and put his 
heavy foot cautiously on the ice. Just then there 
was seen jumping across it a creature which certainly 
had never been seen on ice before. It made the 
most extraordinary bounds on its long hind legs, 
with its little forelegs tucked up in front of it as 
if it wanted to carry a muff; and its stiff tail stick¬ 
ing out straight behind, to balance itself with, 
apparently. The children at first started with 
surprise, and then burst out laughing, for it 
was the funniest creature, and had the funniest 
way of getting along, that they had ever seen in 
their lives. 

‘‘It’s the kangaroo!” cried Gardener in great 
excitement. ‘‘It has got loose—and it’s sure to 
be i os t — and what a way Mr. Giles will be in! 
I must go and tell him. Or stop, I’ll try and 
catch it.” 

But in vain — it darted once or twice across the 
ice, dodging him, as it were; and once coming so 


92 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


close that he nearly caught it by the tail — to the 
children’s great delight — then it vanished. 

“ I must go and tell Mr. Giles directly,” said 
Gardener, and then stopped. For he had promised 
not to' leave the children — and it was such a wild- 
goose chase after an escaped kangaroo. But he might 
get half-a-crown as a reward, and he was sure of 
another glass of cider. 

“You just stop quiet here, and I’ll be back in 
five minutes,” said he to the children. ‘‘You may go 
a little way on the ice — I think it’s sound enough; 
only mind you don’t tumble in, for there’ll be 
nobody to pull you out.” 

‘‘Oh, no,” said the children, clapping their 
hands. They did not care for tumbling in, and 
were quite glad there was nobody there to pull 
them out. They hoped Gardener would stop 
a very long time away — only, as some one 
suggested when he was seen hurrying across the 
snowy field—he had taken away their lunch in 
his pocket, too. 

‘‘Never mind—we’re not hungry yet. Now for 
a slide.” 

Off they darted, the three elder boys, with a 
good run; the biggest of the girls followed after 
them, and soon the whole four were skimming one 
after the other, as fast as a railway train across the 
slippery ice. And like a railway train, they had a 
collision, and all came tumbling one over the other, 


BROWNIE ON THE ICE 


93 


with great screaming and laughter, to the high bank 
on the other side. 

The two younger ones stood mournfully watch¬ 
ing the others from the opposite bank—when there 
stood beside them a small brown man. 

“Ho-ho! little people,” said he, coming between 
them and taking hold of a hand of each. His was 
so warm and theirs so cold, that it was quite com¬ 
fortable. And then, somehow, they found in their 
open mouths a nice lozenge — I think it was pep¬ 
permint, but am not sure — which comforted them 
still more. 

‘‘Did you want me to play with you?” cried the 
Brownie; “then here I am! What shall we do? 
Have a turn on the ice together?” 

No sooner said than done. The two little children 
felt themselves floating along — it was more 
like floating than running—with Brownie between 
them; up the lake, and down the lake, and across 
the lake, not at all interfering with the sliders—- 
indeed, it was a great deal better than sliding. 
Rosy and breathless, their toes so nice and 
warm, and their hands feeling like mince-pies just 
taken out of the oven — the little ones came to a 
standstill. 

The elder ones stopped their sliding and looked 
towards Brownie with entreating eyes. He swung 
himself up to a willow bough, and then turned head 
over heels on to the ice. 


94 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


“Hallo, you don’t mean to say you big ones want 
to race too. Well, come along — if the two eldest 
will give a slide to the little ones.” 

He watched them take a tiny sister between 
them, and slide her up one slide and down another, 
screaming with delight. Then he took the two 
middle children in either hand. 

“One, two, three, and away!” Off they started — 
scudding along as light as feathers and as fast as 
steam-engines over the smooth black ice, so clear 
that they could see the bits of stick and water- 
grasses frozen in it, and even the little fishes swim¬ 
ming far down below—if they had only looked 
long enough. 

When all had had their fair turns, they began 
to be frightfully hungry. 

“Catch a fish for dinner, and I’ll lend you a 
hook,” said Brownie. At which they all laughed, 
and then looked rather grave. Pulling a cold, raw, 
live fish from under the ice and eating it was not 
a pleasant idea of dinner. “Well, what would you 
like to have? Let the little one choose.” 

She said, after thinking a minute, that she should 
like a currant cake. 

“And I’d give you all a bit of it—a very large 
bit—-I would indeed!” added she—almost with the 
tears in her eyes—she was so very hungry. 

“Do it then!” said the Brownie in his little 
squeaking voice. 


BROWNIE ON THE ICE 


95 


Immediately the stone that the little girl was 
sitting on, a round hard stone and so cold! turned 
into a nice hot cake—-so hot that she jumped up 
directly. As soon as she saw what it was, she 
clapped her hands for joy. 

“Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful cake! only we 
haven’t got a knife to cut it.” 

The boys felt in all their pockets, but some¬ 
how their knives never were there when they 
were wanted. 

“Look! you’ve got one in your hand!” said 
Brownie to the little one; and that minute a bit 
of stick she held turned into a bread-knife — 
silver, with an ivory handle — big enough and 
sharp enough, without being too sharp. For the 
youngest little girl was not allowed to use sharp 
knives, though she liked cutting things excessively, 
especially cakes. 

“That will do. Sit you down and carve 
the dinner. Fair shares, and don’t let anybody 
eat too much. Now begin, ma’am,” said the 
Brownie, quite politely, as if she had been ever 
so old. 

Oh, how proud the little girl was! How 
bravely she set to work, and cut five of the big¬ 
gest slices you ever saw, 'and gave them to her 
brothers and sisters, and was just going to take 
the sixth slice for herself, when she remembered 
the Brownie. 


96 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


“ I beg your pardon,” said she, as politely 
as he, though she was such a very little girl— 
and turned round to the wee brown man. But 
he was nowhere to be seen. The slices of cake 
in the children’s hands remained cake, and 
uncommonly good cake it was, and such 
substantial eating that it did nearly the same 
as dinner; but the cake itself turned suddenly 
to a stone again, and the knife into a bit of 
stick. 

For there was the Gardener coming clumping 
along by the bank of the lake, and growling as 
he went. 

“ Have you got the kangaroo?” shouted the 
children, determined to be civil if possible. 

‘‘This place is bewitched, I think,” said he. 

‘‘The kangaroo was fast asleep in the cow shed. 
What! how dare you laugh at me?” 

But they hadn’t laughed at all. And they 
found it no laughing matter, poor children, 
when Gardener came on the ice, and began 
to scold them and order them about. He was 
perfectly savage with crossness, for the people 
at Giles’s Farm had laughed at him very much, 
and he did not like to be laughed at—and 

at the top of the field he had by chance met 
his mistress, and she had asked him severely 

how he could think of leaving the children 

alone. 



Just as Gardener reached the middle of the lake, the ice suddenly broke, and in he popped 














98 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


Altogether his conscience pricked him a good 
deal; and when people’s consciences prick them, 
sometimes they get angry with other people, which 
is very silly, and only makes matters worse. 

“What have you been doing all this time?” 
said he. 

“All this five minutes?” said the eldest boy 
mischievously; for Gardener was only to be away 
five minutes, and he had stayed a full hour. Also, 

when he fumbled in his pocket for the children’s 

lunch — to stop their tongues, perhaps—he found 
it was not there. 

They set up a great outcry — for in spite of the 
cake, they could have eaten a little more. Indeed, 
the frost had such an effect upon all their appe¬ 
tites that they felt not unlike that celebrated 
gentleman of whom it is told that 

“ He ate a cow, and ate a calf, 

He ate an ox, and ate a half; 

He ate a church, he ate the steeple, 

He ate the priest and all the people, 

And said he hadn’t had enough then.” 

“We’re so hungry, so very hungry! Couldn’t 
you go back again and fetch us some dinner?” 
cried they entreatingly. 

“Not I, indeed. You may go back to dinner 
yourselves. You shall indeed, for I want my 


BROWNIE ON THE ICE 


99 


dinner too. Two hours is plenty long enough to 
stop on the ice.” 

“It isn’t two hours—it’s only one.” 

“Well, one will do better than more. You’re 
all right now — and you might soon tumble in, or 
break your legs on the slide. So come away 
home.” 

It wasn’t kind of Gardener, and I don’t wonder 
the children felt it hard; indeed, the eldest boy 
resisted stoutly. 

“Mother said we might stop all day, and we 
will stop all day. You may go home if you like.” 

“I won’t, and you shall!” said Gardener, smack¬ 
ing a whip that he carried in his hand. “Stop till 
I catch you, and I’ll give you this about your 
back, my fine gentleman.” 

And he tried to follow, but the little fellow 
darted across the ice—objecting to be either 
caught or whipped. It may have been rather 
naughty, but I am afraid it was great fun, dodg¬ 
ing the Gardener up and down; he being too 
timid to go on the slippery ice, and sometimes 
getting so close that the whip nearly touched 
the lad. 

“Bless us! there’s the kangaroo again!” said 
he, starting. Just as he had caught the boy and 
lifted the whip, the creature was seen hop-hopping 
from bank to bank. “ I can’t surely be mistaken 
this time; I must catch it.” 


100 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


Which seemed quite easy, for it limped as if it 
was lame, or as if the frost had bitten its toes, 
poor beast: Gardener went after it, walking 
cautiously on the slippery, crackling ice, and never 
minding whether or not he walked on the slides, 
though they called out to him that his nailed boots 
would spoil them. 

But whether it was that ice which bears a 
boy will not bear a man, or whether at each 
lame step of the kangaroo there came a great 
crack, is more than I can tell. However, just 
as Gardener reached the middle of the lake, 
the ice suddenly broke, and in he popped. The 
kangaroo too, apparently, for it was not seen 
afterwards. 

What a hulla-balloo the poor man made! 
Not that he was drowning—the lake was too 
shallow to drown anybody; but he got terribly 
wet, and the water was very cold! Gardener soon 
scrambled out, the boys helping him; and then 
he hobbled home as fast as he could, not even 
saying thank you, or taking the least notice of 
them. 

Indeed, nobody took any notice of them — 
nobody came to fetch them, and they might have 
stayed sliding the whole afternoon. Only somehow 
they did not feel quite easy in their minds. And 
though the hole in the ice closed up immediately, 


BROWNIE ON THE ICE 


101 


and it seemed as firm as ever, still they did not 
like to slide upon it again. 

“ I think we had better go home and tell mother 
everything,” said one of them. “Besides, we ought 
to see what has become of poor Gardener. He 
was very wet.” 

“Yes; but oh how funny he looked!” And 
they all burst out laughing at the recollection of 
the figure he cut, scrambling out through the ice 
with his trousers dripping up to the knees, and the 
water running out of his boots, making a little 
pool wherever he stepped. 

“And it freezes so hard that by the time he gets 
home his clothes will be as stiff as a board. His 
wife will have to put him to the fire to thaw before 
he can get out of them.” 

Again the little people burst into shouts of 
laughter. Although they laughed, they were a 
little sorry for poor old Gardener, and hoped no 
great harm had come to him, but that he had 
got safe home and been dried by his own warm 
fire. 

The frosty mist was beginning already to rise, 
and the sun, though still high up in the sky, 
looked like a ball of red-hot iron as the six chil¬ 
dren went homeward across the fields — merry 
enough still, but not quite so merry as they had 
been a few hours before. 


102 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


“Let’s hope mother won’t be vexed with us,” 
said they, “but will let us come back again 
tomorrow. It wasn’t our fault that Gardener 
tumbled in.” 

As' somebody said this, they all heard quite 
distinctly, “Ha! ha! ha!” and “Ho! ho! ho!” and a 
sound of little steps pattering behind. 

But whatever they thought, nobody ventured to 
say that it was the fault of the Brownie. 



ADVENTURE 
THE SIXTH AND LAST 



'Boxer wouldn't tie shirt-sleeves in double knots ” 



B 





BROWNIE 
AND THE CLOTHES 



Till the next time; but when there is a Brownie 
in the house, no one can say that any of his tricks 
will be the last. For there’s no stopping a Brownie, 
and no getting rid of him either. This one had 
followed the family from house to house, generation 
after generation — never any older, and sometimes 
seeming even to grow younger, by the tricks he 
played. In fact, though he looked like an old man, 
he was a perpetual child. 

To the children he never did any harm, 
quite the contrary. And his chief misdoings 
were against those who vexed the children. But 
he gradually made friends with several of his 
grown-up enemies. Cook, for instance, who had 
ceased to be lazy at night, and late in the morn¬ 
ing, found no more black footmarks on her white 
table-cloth. And Brownie found his basin of milk 
waiting for him, night after night, behind the coal- 
cellar door. 

Bill, too, got on well enough with his pony, and 
Jess was taken no more night-rides. No ducks were 
lost — and Dolly gave her milk quite comfortably 
105 






106 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


to whoever milked her. Alas! this was either Bill 
or the Gardener’s wife now. After that adventure 
on the ice, poor Gardener very seldom appeared; 
when he did, it was on two crutches, for he had had 
rheumatism in his feet, and could not stir outside 
his cottage door. Bill, therefore, had double work, 
which was probably all the better for Bill. 

The garden had to take care of itself; but 
this being winter-time, it did not much signify. 
Besides, Brownie seldom went into the garden, 
except in summer; during the hard weather he 
preferred to stop in his coal-cellar. It might not 
have been a lively place, but it was warm, and 
he liked it. 

He had company there too, for when the cat had 
more kittens — the kitten he used to tease being grown 
up now — they were all put in a hamper in the coal- 
cellar; and of cold nights Brownie used to jump in 
beside them and be as warm and as cosy as a 
kitten himself. The little things never were heard 
to mew, so it may be supposed they liked his 
society. And the old mother cat evidently bore 
him no malice for the whipping she had got 
by mistake, so Brownie must have found means 
of coaxing her over. 

One thing you may be sure of, that all the 
while she and her kittens were in his coal- 
cellar, he took care never to turn himself into a 


mouse. 


BROWNIE AND THE CLOTHES 


107 


He was spending the winter, on the whole, very 
comfortably, without much trouble either to him¬ 
self or his neighbors, when one day, the coal-cellar 
being nearly empty, two men, and a great wagon¬ 
load of coals behind them, came to the door, 
Gardener’s wife following. 

“My man says you’re to give the cellar a good 
cleaning out before you put any more in,” said she 
in her sharp voice; “and don’t be lazy about it. It’ll 
not take you ten minutes, for it’s nearly all coal- 
dust, except one big lump in the corner — you might 
clear that out too.” 

“Stop, it’s the Brownie’s lump! better not meddle 
with it,” whispered the little scullery-maid. 

“Don’t you meddle with matters that can’t 
concern you,” said the Gardener’s wife, who 
had been thinking what a nice help it would be 
to her fire. To be sure, it was not her lump of 
coal, but she thought she might take it; the mis¬ 
tress would never miss it, or the Brownie either. 
He must be a very silly old Brownie to live under 
a lump of coal. 

So she argued with herself, and made the men 
lift it. “You must lift it, you see, if you are to 
sweep the coal-cellar out clean. And you may 
as w'ell put it on the barrow, and I’ll wheel it out 
of your way.” 

This she said in quite a civil voice, lest 
they should tell of her, and stood by while it was 


108 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


being, done. It was done without anything hap¬ 
pening, except that a large rat ran out of the 
coal-cellar door, bouncing against her feet and 
frightening her so much that she nearly tumbled 
down. 

“See what nonsense it is to talk of Brownies 
living in a coal-cellar. Nothing lives there but 
rats, and I’ll have them poisoned pretty soon, and 
get rid of them.” 

But she was rather frightened all the same, 
for the rat had been such a very big rat, 
and had looked at her as it darted past with 
such wild, bright, mischievous eyes — brown 
eyes, of course — that she all but jumped with 
surprise. 

However, she had got her lump of coal, and 
was wheeling it quietly away, nobody seeing, 
to her cottage at the bottom of the garden. She 
was a hard-worked woman—and her husband’s 
illness made things harder for her. Still she was 
not quite easy at taking what did not belong 
to her. 

“I don’t suppose anybody will miss the coal,” 
she repeated. “I dare say the mistress would have 
given it to me if I had asked her — and as for its 
being the Brownie’s lump — fudge! Bless us, 
what’s that?” 

For the barrow began to creak dreadfully, and 
every creak sounded like the cry of a child, just as 


BROWNIE AND THE CLOTHES 109 

if the wheel were going over its leg and crushing 
its poor little bones. 

“What a horrid noise! I must grease the barrow. 
If only I knew where they keep the grease-box. All 
goes wrong, now my old man’s laid up. Oh, dear! 
Oh, dear!” 

For suddenly the barrow had tilted over, 
though there was not a single stone near, and 
the big coal was tumbled on to the ground, where 
it at once broke into a thousand pieces. Gather¬ 
ing it up again was hopeless, and it made such 
a mess on the gravel walk, that the old woman 
was thankful her misfortune happened behind 
the privet hedge, where nobody was likely to 
come. 

“I’ll take a broom and sweep it up to-mor¬ 
row. Nobody goes near the orchard now, except 
me when I hang out the clothes; so I need say 
nothing about it to the old man or anybody, but 
ah! deary me, what a beautiful lot of coal I’ve 
lost! ” 

She stood and looked at it mournfully and then 
went into her cottage, where she found two or three 
of the little children keeping Gardener company. 
They did not dislike to do this now, for he was so 
much kinder than he used to be—so quiet and 
patient, though he suffered very much. And he 
had never once reproached them for what they 
always remembered —how it was ever since the 


110 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


day he was on the ice with them that he had got 
the rheumatism. 

So, one or other of them made a point of 
going to see him every day, and telling him all 
the funny things they could think of—indeed, it 
was a contest among them who should first make 
Gardener laugh. They did not succeed in doing 
that exactly, but they managed to make him 
smile — and he was always gentle and grateful to 
them, so that they sometimes thought it was 
rather nice his being ill. 

But his wife was not pleasant; she grumbled 
all day long, and snapped at him and his visitors; 
being especially snappish this day, because she had 
lost her big coal. 

“I can’t have you children come bothering 
here,” said she crossly. “ I want to wring out 
my clothes and hang them to dry. Be off with 
you!” 

“ Let us stop a little, just to tell Gardener this 
one curious thing about Dolly and the pig, and 
then we’ll help you to take your clothes to the 
orchard; we can carry your basket between us — 
we can indeed.” 

That was the last thing the woman wished; 
for she knew that the children would be sure to 
see the mess on the gravel walk — and they were 
such inquisitive children — they noticed every¬ 
thing. They would want to know all about it, 


BROWNIE AND THE CLOTHES 


111 


and how the bits of coal came there. It was a 
very awkward position. But people who take 
other people’s property often do find themselves 
in awkward positions. 

“Thank you, young gentlemen,” said she, quite 
politely; “but, indeed, the basket is much too 
heavy for you. However, you may stop and 
gossip a little longer with my old man. He likes 
it.” 

And while they were shut up with Gardener in 
his bedroom, off she went, carrying the basket on 
her head, and hung her clothes carefully out—the 
big things on lines between the fruit trees, and the 
little things, such as stockings and pocket-hand¬ 
kerchiefs, stuck on the gooseberry-bushes, or spread 
upon the clean green grass. 

“Such a fine day as it is! they’ll dry directly,” 
said she cheerfully to herself. “Plenty of sun, and 
not a breath of wind to blow them about. I’ll leave 
them for an hour or two, and come and fetch them 
in before it grows dark. Then I shall get all my 
folding done by bed-time, and have a clear day for 
ironing to-morrow.” 

But when she did fetch them in, having bundled 
them altogether in the dusk of the evening, never 
was such a sight as those clothes! They were all 
twisted in the oddest way, the stockings turned 
inside out, with the heels and toes tucked into the 
legs; the sleeves of the shirts tied together in double 


112 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


knots, the pocket-handkerchiefs made into round 
balls, so tight that if you had pelted a person 
with them they would have given very hard blows 
indeed. And the whole looked as if, instead of 
lying quietly on the grass and bushes, they had 
been dragged through heaps of mud and then 
stamped upon, so that there was not a clean inch 
from end to end. 

“What a horrid mess!” cried the Gardener’s 
wife, who had been at first very angry, and then 
very frightened. “But I know what it is; that 
nasty Boxer has got loose again. It’s he that has 
done it.” 

“Boxer wouldn’t tie shirt-sleeves in double knots 
or make balls of pocket-handkerchiefs,” Gardener 
was heard to answer solemnly. 

“Then it’s those horrid children; they are always 
up to some mischief—just let me catch them.” 

“You’d better not,” said somebody in a voice 
exactly like Gardener’s, though he himself declared 
he had not spoken a word. Indeed, he was fast 
asleep. 

“Well, it’s the most extraordinary thing I ever 
heard of,” the Gardener’s wife said, supposing she 
was talking to her husband all the time; but 
soon she held her tongue, for she found here 
and there among the clothes all sorts of queer 
marks—marks of fingers and toes and heels, not 


BROWNIE AND THE CLOTHES 


113 



On the clothes were all sorts of queer marks — marks of fingers and toes and heels — 
all in coal dust 

in mud at all, but in coal-dust, as black as black 
could be. 

Now as the place where the big coal had tumbled 
out of the barrow was fully fifty yards from the 
orchard, and as the coal could not come to the 
clothes, and the clothes could not go without hands, 
the only conclusion she could arrive at was — well, 
no particular conclusion at all! 








114 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


It was too late that night to begin washing 
again; besides, she was extremely tired, and her 
husband woke up rather worse than usual, so 
she just bundled the clothes up anyhow in a 
corner, put the kitchen to rights, and went mourn¬ 
fully to bed. 

Next morning she got up long before it was 
light, washed her clothes through all over again, 
and it being impossible to dry them by the fire, 
went out with them once more and began spread¬ 
ing them out in their usual corner, in a hopeless 
and melancholy manner. While she was at it the 
little folks came trooping around her. But she 
didn’t scold them this time, she was much too 
low-spirited. 

“No, my old man isn’t any better, and I don’t 
fancy he ever will be,” said the Gardener’s wife 
in answer to their questions. “And everything’s 
going wrong with us—just listen!” And she told 
the trick which had been played her about the 
clothes. 

The little people tried not to laugh, but it was 
so funny. And even now, the minute' she had 
done hanging them out, there was something so 
droll in the way the clothes blew about, without 
any wind; the shirts hanging with their necks 
downwards as if there was a man inside them; and 
the drawers standing stiffly astride on the goose¬ 
berry-bushes, for all the world as if they held a 


BROWNIE AND THE CLOTHES 


115 


pair of legs still. As for Gardener’s night-caps — 
long white cotton, with a tassel at the top — they 
were alarming to look at; just like a head stuck on 
the top of a pole. 

The whole thing was so peculiar, and the old 
woman so comical in her despair, that the children, 
after trying hard to keep it in, at last broke into 
shouts of laughter. She turned furiously upon them. 

“It was you who did it.” 

“No, indeed it wasn’t!” said they, jumping 
further to escape her blows. For she had got one 
of her clothes-props, and was laying about her 
in the most reckless manner. However, she hurt 
nobody, and then she suddenly burst out, not 
laughing, but crying. 

“ It’s a cruel thing, whoever has done it, to play 
such tricks on a poor old body like me, with a sick 
husband that she works hard for, and not a child 
to help her. But I don’t care. I’ll wash my clothes 
again, if it’s twenty times over, and I’ll hang 
them out again in this very place, just to make 
you all ashamed of yourselves.” 

Perhaps the little people were ashamed of 
themselves, though they really had not done the 
mischief. But they knew quite well who had 
done it, and more than once they were about 
to tell; only they were afraid if they did so 
they should vex the Brownie so much that he 
would never come and play with them any more. 


116 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


So they looked at one another without speaking, 
and when the Gardener’s wife had emptied her 
basket and dried her eyes, they said to her very 
kindly: 

“Perhaps no harm may come to your clothes 
this time. We’ll sit and watch them till they are 
dry.” 

“Just as you like; I don’t care. Them that 
hides can find, and them that plays tricks knows 
how to stop ’em.” 

It was not a civil speech, but then things 
were hard for the poor old woman. She had 
been awake nearly all night, and up washing 
at daybreak; her eyes were red with crying, 
and her steps weary and slow. The little chil¬ 
dren felt quite sorry for her, and instead of going 
to play sat watching the clothes as patiently as 
possible. 

Nothing came near them. Sometimes, as before, 
the things seemed to dance about without hands, 
and turn into odd shapes, as if there were people 
inside them; but not a creature was seen, and 
not a sound was heard. And though there was 
neither wind nor sun, very soon all the linen was 
perfectly dry. 

“Fetch one of mother’s baskets, and we’ll fold 
it up as tidily as possible — that is, the girls can 
do it, it’s their business — and we boys will carry 
it safe to Gardener’s cottage.” 


BROWNIE AND THE CLOTHES 


117 



When the two biggest boys lifted the basket , piled high with clothes , to carry it away , 
they felt something tugging at it from underneath 


So said they, not liking to say that they could 
not trust the basket out of their sight for fear of 
Brownie — whom, indeed, they were expecting to 
see peer round from every bush. They began to 
have a secret fear that he was rather a naughty 
Brownie, but then, as the eldest little girl whis¬ 
pered, “he was only a Brownie, and knew no 
better.” They themselves were growing big 
children, who would be men and women some 
time; when they hoped they would never do any- 








118 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


thing wrong. (Their parents hoped the same, but 
doubted it.) 

In a serious and careful manner they folded up 
the clothes and laid them one by one in the 
basket without any mischief, until just as the two 
biggest boys were lifting their burden to carry 
it away, they felt something tugging at it from 
underneath. 

“Hallo! Where are you taking all this rubbish? 
Better give it to me.” 

“No, if you please,” said they, very civilly, 
not to offend the little brown man. “We’ll not 
trouble you, thanks! We’d rather do it ourselves; 
for poor old Gardener is very ill, and his wife is 
very miserable, and we are extremely sorry for 
them both.” 

“Extremely sorry!” cried Brownie, throwing up 
his cap in the air, and tumbling head over heels 
in an excited manner. “What in the world does 
extremely sorry mean?” 

The children could not explain, especially to a 
Brownie, but they thought they understood — 
anyhow they felt it. And they looked so sorrow¬ 
ful that the Brownie could not tell what to make 
of it. 

He could not be said to be sorry, since, being 
a Brownie, and not a human being knowing right 
from wrong, he never tried particularly to do right, 
and had no idea when he was doing wrong. But 


BROWNIE AND THE CLOTHES 


119 


he seemed to have an idea that he was troubling 
the children, and he never liked to see them look 
unhappy. 

So he turned head over heels six times running, 
and then came back again. 

“The silly old woman! I washed her clothes 
for her last night in a way she did not expect. 
I hadn’t any soap, so I used a little mud 
and coal-dust, and very pretty they looked. 
Ha! ha! Ha! ha! Shall I wash them over again 
to-night?’’ 

“Oh, no, no, please don’t!” implored the 
children. 

“Shall I starch and iron them? I’ll do it 
beautifully. One — two — three, five—six—seven, 
Abracadabra, turn — turn — ti!” shouted he, jabber¬ 
ing all sorts of nonsense, as it seemed to the 
children, and playing such antics that they stood 
and stared in the utmost amazement, and quite 
forgot the clothes. When they looked round again, 
the basket was gone. 

“Seek till you find, seek till you find, 

Under the biggest gooseberry-bush, 
exactly to your mind.” 

They heard him singing this remarkable rhyme 
long after they had lost sight of him. And then 
they all set about searching; but it was a long 
while before they found, and still longer before 


120 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


they could decide, which was the biggest gooseberry- 
bush, each child having his or her opinion—some¬ 
times a very strong one—on the matter. At last 
they agreed to settle it by pulling half-a-dozen 
little sticks, to see which stick was the longest, and 
the child that held it was to decide the gooseberry- 
bush. 

This done, underneath the branches of the bush 
what should they find but the identical basket of 
clothes! only, instead of being roughly dried, they 
were all starched and ironed in the most beautiful 
manner. 

As for the shirts, they really were a picture to 
behold, and the stockings were all folded up 
and even darned in one or two places as neatly 
as possible. And strange to tell, there was not a 
single black mark of feet or fingers on any one of 
them. 

“Kind little Brownie! clever little Brownie!” 
cried the children in chorus, and thought this 
was the most astonishing trick he had ever 
played. 

What the Gardener’s wife said about it, whether 
they told her anything, or allowed her to suppose 
that the clothes had been done in their own laundry 
instead of the Brownie’s (wherever that establish¬ 
ment might be), is more than I can tell. Of one 
thing only am I certain — that the little people said 
nothing but what was true. Also that the very 


BROWNIE AND THE CLOTHES 


121 


minute they got home they told their mother 
everything. 

But for a long time after that they were a good 
deal troubled. Gardener got better, and went 
hobbling about the place again, to his own 
and everybody’s great content, and his wife was 
less sharp-tongued and complaining than usual — 
indeed, she had nothing to complain of. All the 
family were very flourishing—except the little 
Brownie. 

Often there was heard a curious sound all over 
the house; it might have been rats squeaking 
behind the wainscot—the elders said it was—but 
the children were sure it was a sort of weeping 
and wailing. 

“They’ve stolen my coal, 

And I haven’t a hole 
To hide in; 

Not even a house 
One could ask a mouse 
To bide in.” 

A most forlorn tune it was, ending in a 
dreary minor key, and it lasted for months and 
months — at least the children said it did. 
And they were growing quite dull for want of a 
playfellow, when, by the greatest good luck in 
the world, there came to the house not only a 
new lot of kittens, but a new baby. And the 


122 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE 


new baby was everybody’s pet — including the 
Brownie’s. 

From that time, though he was not often seen, 
he was continually heard up and down the stair¬ 
case, where he was frequently mistaken for Tiny or 
the cat, and sent sharply down again, which was 
wasting a good deal of wholesome anger upon Mr. 
Nobody. Or he lurked in odd corners of the 
nursery, whither the baby was seen crawling eagerly 
after nothing in particular, or else she sat laughing 
with all her might at something — probably her 
own toes. 

But as Brownie was never seen, he was never 
suspected. And since he did no mischief, neither 
pinched the baby nor broke the toys, left no soap 
in the bath and no footmarks about the room, but 
was always a well-conducted Brownie in every way, 
he was allowed to inhabit the nursery (or supposed 
to do so, since, as nobody saw him, nobody could 
prevent him), until the children were grown up 
into men and women. 

After that he retired into his coal-cellar, and 
for all I know he may live there still, and have 
gone through hundreds of adventures since — but 
as I never heard them I can’t tell them. Only I 
think if I could be a little child again, I should 
exceedingly like a Brownie to play with me. 
Should not you? 



T HE author of this little book, Dinah Maria Mulock Craik, was a 
woman as modest, sweet, and wholesome as the story itself. 
She lived in England, but her writings endeared her to people 
all over the world. Some American ladies who w r ent to call upon her 
in her home, Wildwood Cottage, in Hampstead, near London, describe 
her as wearing a black silk gown with a plain linen collar, her brown 
hair drawn smoothly back from an open brow, and her face, gracious 
and winning to an unusual degree, bearing the look of one who had 
tasted of sorrow. This was when she was already a well-known writer, 
having won her place in literature by hard and faithful work; but 
probably she did not dream, even then, that she would come to be 
recognized as, next to Dickens, the most widely-read novelist of her time. 

She was born April 20, 1826, at Stoke-upon-Trent, one of the chief 
manufacturing towns of Staffordshire, England. Staffordshire is the 
central county of England, and has many curious and interesting fea¬ 
tures. It forms the sloping base of a long chain of hills, where in count¬ 
less ages the sea, sometimes covering the land and again driven away 
from it by the upheaval of a great body of earth and stone, has worn 
down the grit and limestone rock into clay. Did you know that all clay 
was mud made by the washing away of rocks? Just think how many 
hundreds of years it took to make the little ball of clay you model with! 

Well, the people who lived in this country found out, eighteen hun¬ 
dred years ago, that they could mould their clay into pots and basins, 
even if they could not make things grow in it; so they dug up the clay, 
shaped it with their hands, and baked it in the sun, making jars, bowls, 
and other useful things which they sold to farmers in exchange for food. 

About that time there came marching over the thickly wooded 
land, companies of Roman soldiers, who took all the clay bowls they 
wanted for their own use, and showed the potters how to make better 

123 









124 


STORY OF THE AUTHOR’S LIFE 


ones. They also compelled them to make floors, roofs, and wall orna¬ 
ments of clay baked in very hot ovens, called kilns. Much of this old 
Roman pottery was, of course, broken and lost, but still, if you should 
ever go there, you would find pieces of it in the banks of the little rivers 
and brooks near the clay pits, pieces more than a thousand years old. 

Because it is so full of clay—dark blue clay, and red and yellow 
ochres, used for coloring and painting, as well as red and black chalk— 
the country seems to have been made for potteries. Besides this, there 
used always to be plenty of wood to keep the kilns hot, for a great forest 
covered nearly all the land. This was a continuation of the Forest of 
Arden, about which you will read some day, as well as about Sherwood 
Forest, which sheltered Robin Hood and his merry men. — Have you 
heard about them yet?—Later, when better fuel was needed, two great 
coal fields were discovered underlying the county, one of them twenty 
miles long by two broad. Here, then, where all was so perfectly pre¬ 
pared for his work, it was natural that the greatest potter of modern 
times, and one of the greatest of all times, should be born—Josiah 
Wedgwood, who lived for many years in the very town where Mrs. Craik 
was born. He not only loved to make dishes and jars of all kinds as 
perfect as possible, but while shut in with a long illness he studied the 
chemistry and the arithmetic needed in his trade. In years of hard 
labor and close study he so mastered his trade that he made it both a 
science and an art. He, more than any other, turned the county into one 
of the busiest places in the world, where thousands of men work from 
morning till night to supply the whole world with every sort of thing 
that can be made out of clay. Perhaps on the bottom of your plates 
at home you may find printed the words “Staffordshire, England/’ 

Before Wedgwood’s time—in 1653, to be accurate—Stoke-upon- 
Trent was a small group of thatched houses and two pot-works, gathered 
around the ancient parish church. In 1762, thirty-two years after 
Wedgwood’s birth, it had a population of 8,000, of whom 7,000 were 
employed, in one way or another, in the pottery trade. The whole 
country-side is now black with smoke from the many factories. At 
one time, when the potters used salt to glaze their ware—that is, to put 
a bright polish on it—they lsed to open up their huge ovens every 
Saturday morning, between the hours of eight and twelve, and cast in 
salt. It would then melt, and run over the surface of the clay jugs and 
things inside, and leave a smooth, shining surface. If you let some salt 


STORY OF THE AUTHOR’S LIFE 


125 


and water, very strong of salt, boil over an old crock of your mother’s, 
when the fire is making the stove red-hot, you will see how it works. 
Indeed, it was through an accidental boiling-over of this sort that salt- 
glaze was discovered. On Saturdays, when the salt was cast into the 
kilns, it made great clouds of smoke and vapor, filling streets and houses, 
and spreading far out into the country, so heavy that travelers to 
town lost their way, and persons in the street ran against each other. 

Here lived, and preached, and argued, and laid down the law, a 
brilliant, enthusiastic Irishman, named Thomas Mulock, the father of 
the woman who wrote this book. He was a minister, but one who did 
not agree with any of the other ministers around him. He had a warm, 
eager nature, and a temper to match, and as the second of twenty-two 
children must have exercised from his early childhood all that power of 
domineering which made Lord Byron nickname him “Muley Mulock.” 
By this name he was known over half of Europe, but for all that he was 
much loved and admired, and moved in the same circle as Byron, Scott, 
Southey, and Wordsworth. From him, Mrs. Craik undoubtedly inher¬ 
ited her gifts as a writer. 

Her mother was a daughter of Mr. Mellard, a tanner and a member 
of the Reverend Thomas Mulock’s congregation. She was one of three 
sisters who used to talk with the young minister over the wall that 
separated their gardens. There is a legend that he went all in white to 
the wedding, his shoes being of white satin; but this is very likely only 
a picturesque bit of gossip, kept alive by the fact that Mr. Mulock was 
quite romantic enough and independent enough to have done such a 
thing if it had happened to strike his fancy. His wife was a frail little 
woman, and the troubles which soon beset her husband on account of 
his strong, new opinions, were hard for her to bear, as was also the way 
in which he, like a hot-blooded Irishman, sure that he was right and all 
the rest of the world wrong, marched straight into the thick of any 
theological fight that might be going on. Dinah, at last, although merely 
an inexperienced girl, persuaded her mother to go with her to London, 
to seek a little peace and quiet, leaving the father to fight out his 
battles alone in the country place he found—or made—so full of strife. 

This was a tremendous responsibility for a young girl with no means 
to speak of and only an ordinarily good education, such as was given to 
young ladies in the girls’ schools of those days. At school she seems to 
have been a great favorite, and is described as being always the center of 


126 


STORY OF THE AUTHOR’S LIFE 


a bevy of girls, who hung round her lovingly, and for whom she prophesied 
the most wonderful things. She was always sure they had great abilities, 
but seemed to be quite unconscious that she herself was the most gifted 
of them all, and would be remembered when they were forgotten. 

Even after she came to London, she made friends among other girls, 
and in spite of her unceasing and exacting work, seems always to have 
had time to enjoy them and make them enjoy her. She was only twenty 
years old when, in 1846, she went to London, and undertook the main 
support of her mother and the two young brothers who soon joined them. 
She did everything her pen could find to do, writing stories for fashion 
books and other periodicals, and had the satisfaction, finally, of knowing 
that she had succeeded in caring for her aged mother to the end of her life- 

Of the two brothers, the elder, Thomas, Jr., true son of his father, 
took part in some act of rebellion while studing at the Royal Academy. 
His father sided with the principals of the school and approved of the 
son’s being expelled, his own heart aching, most probably, while he did 
what he thought was his duty. The son’s heart, in turn, was sore at 
what he must have thought unloving conduct on the father’s part. At 
any rate, he decided soon after to go to Australia, and, as he was about 
to board the ship, fell off the quay and was killed. 

This was a heavy blow to the brave young sister, now left with only 
the younger brother. He was a musician and a photographer of no mean 
rank at a time when few persons thought of photography as an art. 
Though he never proved a support to her, always leaning on her 
motherly care and getting himself into many scrapes from which she 
had to pull him out he was nevertheless the joy of his sister’s life. 

In London Miss Mulock made friends whose assistance, later, was 
worth a great deal to her. She had published, in 1849, her first novel, 
The Ogilvies, which brought her recognition, and made men and women 
of real power in the world of letters seek her out. When they knew her 
personally, her simple cordiality, friendliness, and, above all, her thorough 
goodness of heart, made them her warm friends. When she found her¬ 
self able to take a cottage—the “Wildwood Cottage’’ already spoken 
of—she quickly gathered around her some of the brightest and best 
people in the great city. From that time on, her books came out steadily 
and in great numbers. In all, she wrote forty-six works, including 
many novels, some essays, and two or three volumes of poetry. 

The greatest of her novels is John Halifax , Gentleman , considered 


STORY OF THE AUTHOR’S LIFE 


127 


by many the best story of English middle-class life ever written. This 
novel was translated into French, German, Italian, Greek, and Russian, 
and is still one of the most frequently called for books in the public 
libraries. Her poems, Douglas , Douglas , Tender and True , and Philip 
My King , are known wherever English is spoken. 

There is an interesting story connected with the latter poem. Philip 
Bourke Marston, the boy to whom it refers, was the son of one of Miss 
Mulock’s London friends, Westland Marston, a famous dramatic poet 
and critic. When his little son was born, August 13, 1850, he asked 
Miss Mulock to be Philip’s godmother, and traces of her deep affection 
for the gifted child are to be found among her writings. A Hero was 
written for him, and it is to him, evidently, that the lovely little poem, 
A Child's Smile , refers. The boy lost his sight when only three years 
old. The cause is said to have been too much belladonna, given to 
prevent scarlet fever. For many years enough sight remained to 
enable him, in his own words, to see “the three boughs waving in the 
wind, the pageant of sunset in the west, and the glimmer of a fire upon 
the hearth.” Shut in thus to the inner world of thought and feeling, 
Philip indulged in an imaginative series of wonderful adventures, and in 
long daydreams excited by music. Perhaps his blindness, coupled with 
his vivid imagination, is the reason why the beautiful poems he wrote 
when he grew older show such a wonderfully vivid power ol portraying 
nature. When he saw a tree-bough waving in the wind, he saw it only 
dimly with his outward eyes, but as he sat dreaming over it afterward, 
it became more real to him than any bough was likely to become to an 
everyday, hearty boy who saw so many trees, with so many branches, 
that he hardly noticed them at all. It must have been a great comfort 
to him to have such a godmother as Miss Mulock—a real fairy god¬ 
mother, who could weave magic spells of the most interesting stories, 
and heal the aches of his poor heart by sweet little poems. 

It was at Wildwood Cottage that Miss Mulock formed that close 
acquaintance with George Lillie Craik that finally led to her marriage 
with him. Mr. Craik met with a serious railroad accident near her 
house, which she promptly gave up to him, she staying with a friend 
near by; in the long days of convalescence they learned to know each 
other thoroughly. The marriage was singularly happy. Mr. Craik was 
a man of letters as well as a publisher, and they had every taste in 
common. Their life together was beautiful and full of a deep peace. 


128 


STORY OF THE AUTHOR’S LIFE 


Although they had no children of their own, they had an adopted 
daughter, Dorothy, and she it is for whom The Adventures of a Brownie 
was written. It is probably because of Mrs. Craik’s devotion and love 
for her that the little book is so free from self-consciousness, so evidently 
written whole-heartedly “as told to my child.’’ 

Mrs. Craik’s death, which took place in 1887, was, like her life, full 
of self-sacrificing affection and obedience to duty. She had not been 
ill, beyond a few attacks of heart-trouble that no one considered serious. 
By some blessed chance, on the morning of her last day on earth, her 
husband took an especially loving farewell of her—so much so that 
Dorothy laughed at him, and Mrs. Craik, smiling happily, reminded her 
that, although they had been so long married, they were lovers still. 
It was within a few weeks of Dorothy’s marriage when the sudden heart 
failure came, and Mrs. Craik’s one wish was that she might be per¬ 
mitted to live four weeks longer, so that her death might not over¬ 
shadow her daughter’s wedding. She resigned even this unselfish wish 
when she saw that it was not God’s will. 

The beauty of her character, it may be supposed, quite as much as 
any peculiar merit in her writings, led Queen Victoria, who always 
tried to reward uprightness of life as well as unusual skill in any art, 
to bestow upon Mrs. Craik the only mark of recognition in her power. 
This was a small pension, and although she often was criticised for keep¬ 
ing a sum of money she did not need, while many less fortunate writers 
did need it, she retained it as her right, to use as her conscience dictated. 
She set it aside for struggling authors who would accept help from the 
queen’s bounty that they would refuse from her private funds. 

Other writers may be more brilliant and more profound than Mrs. 
Craik, but her tales of simple goodness bring, not only a sense of rest 
and relief to the reader, but also a new desire to put goodness into his 
own daily life. In all her stories Mrs. Craik makes goodness as lovely 
as it really is. There are sad things in them, but the sadness is always 
made sweet at last by courage and patience and kindliness. 









































































































































































































































































































































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